Floating in the Dark
by KuroKage1717
Summary: What if Alex really did kill Mrs. Jones? Things would turn out quite different, wouldn't they? COMPLETE
1. Prologue

_What if Alex really did kill Mrs. Jones that day? Things would turn out a whole lot different, wouldn't they? This isn't going to be a simple Alex-turned-assassin story, I'm warning you. So read on, and let me know what you think. _

**Floating in the Dark**

An Alex Rider Fanfic

PROLOGUE

"You're not going to shoot me," she says quietly, confidently. "Now, or ever."

His eyes, once bright with the innocence and happiness of youth, are now dark with confused anger. She is trying to confuse him with her lies, he thinks. But he knows better. She had always lied, had been lying since the start.

His hand trembles; the gun seems heavy. He swallows, and gathers his resolve. She had_ killed_ him; she had murdered his father in cold blood. Determination burns in his gaze, strengthening it, calming his trembling hand. "You're wrong," he says, his voice flat and emotionless.

He can do this. He has to do this.

So he aims the gun straight at her, and lets the hatred take him.

He fires.

Thunder shatters the silence into a million pieces, and the sound of the gunshot reverberates inside his head. He will never forget the sound.

The sound of her death.

Her face is shocked; she truly thought he wouldn't be able to shoot her. But he has. Her wide eyes stare blankly into his, as a small rivulet of blood slides down the middle of her face from the small hole in the center of her forehead.

He watches, suddenly confused, as she slowly crumples to the ground before him, a few crimson drops of her blood splattering on her silk dressing grown.

She is still.

Dead, he realizes, with a shock. She is really dead.

And he had killed her.

Strangely, he only feels a numbness. A strange numbness that holds back the horror, the guilt, the shock. He stares at her body, and finds his thoughts only to be a confused mess.

He had just killed Mrs. Jones.


	2. One: Numb

ONE

_I run. _

_That is all I know to do._

_She's dead, and I must get away. Get away fast before they come for me. Because I have just killed the deputy head of MI6. _

_So numb, so cold - _

_So confused._

_I don't understand. I have just killed a human being. So why don't I feel anything? My head is confused, my mind is numb. I don't feel guilty. I don't feel disgusted or happy or sad, or even angry. _

_Why can't I feel?_

_I don't know what to do. _

_So I run._

_tTt_

They knew that he was coming.

They knew that Scorpia had gotten a hold on him, and they knew that he had found out about the incident on the bridge. So it was only logical that Scorpia would send Alex to kill Mrs. Jones, the one responsible for the whole thing.

They knew, and they didn't do a thing about it.

It turned out to be a big mistake.

Alan Blunt had wanted to take the necessary precautions. As he had been in MI6 for a long time, he was experienced in all kinds of situations, and had began to expect anything and everything that could happen. He had wanted to set up a bullet-proof glass wall that separated her room entirely in half.

But Mrs. Jones would have none of it. She held a soft spot for Alex in her heart; perhaps it was because she was a woman who once had precious children in her life. In any case, she had believed in Alex; believed that he never had it in him to become a cold-hearted killer.

She thought she could calm him, turn him away with mere words. She thought she could reach him, and make him understand.

But in the end, she had miscalculated. Miscalculated the amount of anger and hurt that could reside inside a boy. Emotions powerful enough to cloud his mind, and make him pull the trigger.

Because of her miscalculations, she was now dead.

Alan Blunt, the head of MI6, now watched silently, as a nondescript black coffin was lowered into a unmarked grave. Only he, and a few others from MI6 were there to watch the funeral. All of them, including Blunt, felt some kind of loss. Mrs. Jones had been with the agency for a long, long time.

Once the simple coffin was settled into the ground, each of them walked forward, one at a time, and silently dropped a single white rose onto it. Blunt was last. He watched the rose as it gracefully fell down, a single petal coming loose and floating downwards on its own.

It was somehow fitting, he decided. Symbolic, and all that. However, before he start to muse on that, he turned, and headed for the sleek, black car that awaited him. His thoughts turned to the problem on hand.

Namely, that of Alex Rider.

The idea of a teenage assassin was very troubling, indeed.

tTt

Nile came to get him.

When he had called from the phone booth, they had told him to stay put, and wait. There had been no problem in that. Alex had slipped down to the floor of the booth, and sat very still. He had remained motionless, for the entire fourteen minutes that it took for Nile to get there.

He got out of the car, and walked to the booth, a strange figure with black and white skin. Seeing the still form of Alex inside, he rapped on the side of the booth with his knuckles. "Alex?"

Alex looked up, his brown gaze somewhat blank. Slowly, he got up, his movements sluggish. "Nile," he said flatly, coming out.

"Did you kill her?" Nile abruptly asked, his dark eyes intent on Alex's face.

"Yes," Alex murmured quietly, emptily.

Nile's expression lit up, becoming animated and excited. "What was it like?"

Alex shrugged, feeling too tired and cold to care. "I don't know."

Nile took a look at Alex, finally realizing that the boy was exhausted. "Oh, you can tell me about it later, Alex. But I bet you were excited. It's always exciting for me. I'm happy for you, Alex; now you're one of us."

Alex didn't say anything. Nile put an arm around his shoulders, and lead him to the car. "Come on, let's go home."

_Home, _Alex thought dully. _Home to Scorpia._

Scorpia.

He could still see her wide, shocked eyes, filled with stunned horror and hurt. Eyes that seared themselves so clear into his mind. Eyes that shouted out with the sharp crack of a gunshot every time they flashed into his head.

Eyes that he would never forget.


	3. Two: Broken

**I am simply astounded. I have never thought I would've gotten this many reviews and story alerts - you guys are awesome! Thanks so much! I had originally posted this story as just an idea, but since you guys like this so much, I'll do my best to turn it into a good story. Thanks again for all of your reviews. : D**

* * *

_TWO_

As soon as they returned, Nile took Alex to see Julia Rothman. She was in an office, talking quietly with Oliver D'Arc. Both adults were very interested in Alex's mission, and wanted to know everything about it.

They asked questions, which Alex answered, in short, monotone sentences. It was like he wasn't all there, which in truth, he wasn't. His thoughts were far away, trapped in that single moment. . .

"So you actually killed her," Julia Rothman seemed to disbelieve it.

"Yes."

"No problems?" Oliver D'Arc wanted to know. "Everything went smoothly?"

"Yes."

"Good, Alex! Very good! I knew that you could do it, after all; we just needed to find you the right target. I'm very proud of you!"

Alex just looked dully at D'Arc, mind blank. The plump man peered sharply at him. "You seem quite exhausted, Alex. It's not surprising after all - you _did_ just do your first kill. Perhaps you should go to your room for a rest, all right?"

"Yes." Alex mechanically got to his feet, face expressionless. D'Arc beamed at him, while Rothman just seemed pensive. It was almost as if she couldn't believe that Alex had actually shot Mrs. Jones.

But he had.

Nile was waiting outside the room, and cheerfully showed him the way, cheerfully chatting up a storm. "You know, my first kill was this old man. It was so easy; he was just sitting in this old chair in his house, with all of his grandkids on the floor around him. All I had to do was send a bullet right through the window, and straight into his head. It was great; and incredibly thrilling, you know? One second he was telling some old story to all those little children, and then _pop -_" Nile pointed a finger at his own head - "He was dead. Easy as that."

Alex felt sick. It was a good thing that Nile finally stopped in front of a door, and gestured for Alex to go in.

"There you go, Alex. Have a good rest, and I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, Alex was left alone, standing outside his room. He went inside, and quietly closed the door behind him.

SssS

_How many hours has it been? _

_Three? Four? Ten? _

_Doesn't matter. _

_They'll never go away, now. They'll never leave me alone. Never. . ._

_Those eyes. . .that sharp sound. . .the cold, metal heaviness that sits in my hand_. . ._that small, perfect hole in her head. . ._

_I'll never forget._

_How much longer?_

_How many hours are left to the night?_

_. . ._

_I can't sleep._

SssS

"Good morning, Alex," Dr. Steiner smiled, as Alex took a seat in the leather chair. "And how are you today?"

Alex shrugged, staring at his hands as they lay limply on his lap. "Fine," he mumbled. Then he yawned, a wide-open yawn that threatened to split his face in half. He blearily wiped his eyes with a hand.

"Tired?" Steiner observed calmly.

"I guess," Alex quietly answered.

"Hmm," the psychiatrist leaned back in his chair on the other side of the desk. "I understand you successfully completed your first kill the other day. Mrs. Rothman wanted me to check on you, and see how you are coping. Taking someone's life can be traumatizing, I'm sure, but one usually adapts after the third or fourth time."

_Adapt?_ Alex thought bitterly. _How? How can I adapt when a part of me just died? I shot her. I killed her, and I don't feel a thing. . . . .I don't have a heart anymore. It died with her._

"Now, Alex," Dr. Steiner went on, "I'm sure you remember these, right?" He held up a stack of cards. On each one was a black shape. It was the test he had just taken a few days ago, the Rorschach test. He had looked at the black blobs and told Steiner what he thought they looked like.

"I guess," he muttered.

"Good. Then we'll just run through a few of them, just to see if anything's changed. Now. Tell me, Alex. What do you see?" Steiner held up a card. On it, was a spiky shape that reminded Alex of a -

"Knife."

"Good, and this one?"

". . .a dog."

The psychiatrist held up another card. As Alex looked at it, he vaguely thought it was familiar. He had probably done this one before, just the other day. But. . .as he looked at it. . .

"It's a man," he spoke quietly.

"And?" Steiner prodded gently. Alex stared at the dark shape.

"He's floating. In the dark.. . .or space, I guess."

"Anything else?" Steiner seemed interested, making Alex feel uneasy.

"Not really. . ."

"All right," The doctor shuffled through the cards, and held up another. "Last one. What do you see?"

This one was familiar, too. Although Alex couldn't remember what it had looked like then, he was quite certain it wasn't what he saw now. He gave a tired shrug. "It's a gun being held to someone's head."

Dr. Steiner smiled. "Good, Alex. Very good.I suppose you're hungry, aren't you? You haven't had breakfast yet, right?"

"No."

"Then you may go. I think you're just fine. Your mission hasn't hindered you in any way. So go and have yourself a good meal, all right? "

"Sure. . ." Alex got up, and left the office. That had been quite a short session, and he wasn't even sure that they accomplished anything. But he wasn't the psychiatrist. Steiner was. And in any case, he was certain that the man was wrong.

Because he wasn't fine.

They might think so, but he knew the truth. Something was broken inside of him. He was far from fine.

And he wasn't hungry.

SssS

While Alex went to the cafeteria, Dr. Karl Steiner went to see Julia. He was quite sure she would be interested in the results. And she was.

She smiled cunningly to herself, and started to think ahead to the future. MI6 didn't quite realize what a valuable tool they had lost. She didn't pity them.

Scorpia would have their special assassin, yet.


	4. Three: Truth

**Hey, guys. I apologize for the delay, but really, it's hard to update with so much stuff is going on. Anyway, thanks for being so patient. Here's the next post for this story, and I hope you enjoy. Please let me know your thoughts, as it is your feedback that encourages me to update a whole lot faster (or at least try to :)) Also, I don't own much of the AR books, so if there's any mistakes or discrepancies, please let me know. Thanks! Now on to the story!  
**

* * *

**_THREE_**

Alex stood in the shooting range, a heavy pistol held in both, outstretched hands. The target was a simple bulls-eye, several yards away. Every shot he took ploughed through the center.

He hated the gun. Hated what it was, what it was capable of, what it had done - yet he didn't let it distract him. Assassins weren't distracted. And he was now an assassin.

_Right?_

oOo

Jack Starbright glared at the two MI6 agents standing in her doorway. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Blunt wishes to see you, Miss Starbright," one of them crisply stated. "We are here to escort you to his office."

A flicker of unease ran throughout her, and her face took on a worried expression. "Is this about Alex?" she asked. "Because he hasn't been home for over a week. I don't know anything - "

"Come with us, Miss Starbright," One of the agents repeated, his tone stern and commanding. As he spoke, he brushed the edge of his black suit jacket aside, giving her a glimpse of something metallic.

A gun.

If she hadn't been so worried, she would've scoffed. Trying to scare her, huh? Jack let out a weary sigh. "Fine, fine, I'm coming. Just let me grab my purse."

oOo

Alex lowered his weapon, and waited quietly as the target was brought in. He saw that the center had been completely shredded, but he felt no pride in his work. It was just another thing. A thing that assassins do. Shoot holes in their targets.

He was good at that, wasn't he? _The perfect little hole in the middle of her forehead, so perfect that only a little blood came out...but the back of her head. . . that wasn't so perfect. So much blood. . ._

"Hey!" The cheerful voice cut into his dark thoughts, and Alex turned to see another of Scorpia's students. Tall and stick thin, Raymond was an overenthusiastic young man who excelled at sniping. As such, he took great interest in all types of guns, and was a expert when it came them.

Alex didn't move as Raymond leaned over, and peered at the target. The skinny man let out a low whistle. "Nice, Alex - very nice! You're quite good - but not as good as me, of course," Raymond grinned in a friendly way. He clapped Alex on the shoulder, and called out to the shooting range instructor, Gordon Ross. "Hey Ross! I think the kid needs something harder!"

The technical specialist came over, and peered at Alex's handiwork. "Not bad, not bad," he muttered to himself. Then he grinned slyly. "All right, Mr. Rider. Let's see how well you do with _these_ targets..."

oOo

What was this? What was going on?

Jack didn't like the look of things. First of all, everyone was so _grim-faced. _You'd think somebody had died, or something.

Now she sat in front of Alan Blunt's desk. The man quietly observed her, watching her with that unsettling, flat gaze. She stared back. As he watched her, he opened a drawer in his desk, and reached inside. Pulling out what looked like a piece of _candy,_ he carefully unwrapped it, and placed it gingerly in his mouth. Making a distasteful expression, he awkwardly sucked on it, like he was unused to indulging in such sweets.

Catching her stare, he spoke up. "Want one?"

"Huh?"

"A peppermint. Would you like one?"

Jack blinked, then slowly shook her head. "What's this all about?" she demanded, getting irritated at this whole mess.

Blunt suddenly looked tired. "Mrs. Jones is dead," he stated quietly, getting right to business.

"D-dead? What?" She was surprised by that sudden statement, but was still annoyed. She had only seen the woman once or twice, and didn't like her one bit. In fact, she didn't like the whole MI6 thing at all. They had used Alex like a weapon, like the perfect secret little spy that he definitely wasn't. Alex was just a _child,_ for crying out loud. He was too young to fight for his country! "I guess I feel sorry for you, but really, what does this have to do -"

"Alex killed her," Blunt cut in bluntly.

Jack gaped, not sure that she had heard right. "Excuse me?" she gasped. "Did you just say - ?!"

The head of MI6 didn't answer. Instead, he folded thin hands on top of his desk, and quietly watched her.

oOo

It was the figure of a human person. Before, he hadn't been able to hit it in all the fatal places. But now, he didn't hesitate, and fired round after round. Each bullet went between the eyes, or straight in the heart. Even if the target was a man, women, or child. It didn't matter.

A target was a target.

oOo

_If these were real people...would I still kill them?_

_..._

_I don't know._

_Before. . .I know. . .there would be no way that I would have. Human life was precious. But now, I don't know anymore._

_These targets. . .they mean nothing. My job is to shoot them full of holes. So I do._

_But every time I send a bullet into their paper heads, I see her. Each time, I see that perfect little hole, those watery wide eyes, staring right into my soul - _

_No! Don't go there! _

_I am an assassin._

_My job is to kill._

_. . . . . . . ._

_. . . . ._

. . .

.

_What have I _done_?_

oOo

"We need your help, Miss Starbright," he said calmly. The fact that she was frozen in place, a horrid expression of shock and horror painted all over her face - it meant nothing to him. He went on, as if she was completely calm and collected, and understood his every word.

"You are the only one he will listen to, now. We need you to get a hold of him, and talk to him. Bring him in. Or at least get him to come out, so we can reach him."

She stared at nothing, her face an ashen white.

"Tell him you need to see him. He should come out for that, if he still cares about you. I'm sure he does. Then we can grab him, and try to figure out what that boy is thinking..." Alan Blunt trailed off, as he started to wonder.

Just _what_ was that boy thinking, indeed? What was it that could bring a child to kill? Surely it couldn't be just the fact that he thought Mrs. Jones had killed his father. Which she hadn't. But still. Alex hadn't even _known_ his father...

A puzzle. It was an intriguing puzzle.

"I can't believe this," Jack whispered, sagging in her chair. "Alex. . ."

_Did you really murder someone?_


	5. Four: Uncertainty

**Sigh, thanks for be so patient, everyone. You guys are awesome! I have continued to be flabbergasted (isn't that an awesome word??) by all the reviews and story alerts. It's a constant motivator for me to actually get off my butt and do some serious writing. Anyway, here you go. Ready, enjoy, enjoy some more, and please let me know your thoughts. Thank you!**

* * *

_**FOUR**_

"I think he's ready."

"Hm?" Julia Rothman turned to the speaker, Dr. Karl Steiner. He had come to her office first thing in the morning, and she was still working on her first cup of coffee. Simply put, she really didn't feel like listening to sudden statements that came out of thin air.

She glared at him, silently letting him know that his intrusion was not welcome. Steiner did not seem to be fazed in the slightest.

"Alex Rider, Julia dear. You told me to let you know when he was ready." He met her frigid gaze calmly.

"I. . .see." She wrapped a cool hand around the styrofoam cup, and peered intently into its steaming contents. "And you think it is time, then."

"Ah..." Steiner smiled. It was not a happy, friendly, or amused smile in any way. "It all depends on what you have in mind. If you are thinking of bringing him into the fold, so to speak, then perhaps not yet. Instead, maybe a mission. . .?"

"A test, Steiner?" Rothman lifted her sharp gaze upwards, and frowned deeply. "He has already passed the last one quite satisfactorily. I see no need for another."

"Ah, but this is something quite different. If you would just listen. . ."

"Very well, Steiner. Out with it." She straightened up in her chair, sitting primly, and doing her best not to look too interested in what the Doctor was saying. For in all truth, with every word that passed from his lips, she began to grow very interested indeed.

oOo

She took the last step from the stairway, her right foot the first to touch the ground of Venice. Jack Starbright took a moment to just stand there, and look around.

_Alex. . .you're here. .._

_Somewhere._

"Ma'am?" A dark-suited man came down the steps, and stood directly behind her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she snapped. What was with all these dark suits? They were imbeciles! Ever since they had come to get her from her house, her life had been ruined.

It wasn't their fault, really. It was Alex who had -

Scrunching her eyes shut, she gave her head a tight little shake. _Don't think about that__**. **__Just concentrate on finding Alex._

With a small sigh, she gripped her purse slightly, and raised her head, her lips pressed together in a grim line. "Take me to the hotel," she said. "I need a hot shower and some food."

"Yes, ma'am."

"This way, Ma'am," Another dark suit stepped forward, and gently took her elbow. He lead her to the waiting black car that ran only a few meters away. Jack had to stop herself from scowling. These suits were here only for her protection. They were meant to help her find Alex. But really, did Blunt have to send such annoying stiff-necked worms?

She got into the car, her temporary annoyance quickly fading into worry. And fear.

_Alex. . .Why did you do it? _How _could you do it? _

As the vehicle began to roll away, she leaned against the cold window, and stared outside. Her worried gaze didn't take in any of the breathtaking scenery, though. Instead, she focused on something that she couldn't see; something that she feared was fading away, never to be found again.

_Where are you?_

oOo

"A mission?"

"Yes, Alex," Julia Rothman said. "Since you are doing extraordinarily well, we think it is time for your first mission."

Alex didn't say anything. Inside, he dully wondered who he would be required to kill. And when that time came, would he . . . would he be able to do it again? Would -

"Since it's your first solo mission, we gave you something simple, although its length could be a week to several weeks."

_Solo. . .?_

_Simple?_

_Was murder ever simple?_

"Here's the files, Alex." He limply reached out, and took the thick envelope she held out. She went on, not noticing his lack of enthusiasm.

"To put it simply, your target is Gerald Stronson. He is the Vice Principal of Rockshire High School. He may seem like a nice, compassionate man, but in secret, he is really up to things which you don't need to hear about.

"Now, Alex, this should be very easy for you. Rockshire is a casual school, so there's no uniform or strict rules. All you have to do, is get close to Stronson's son, thereby getting close to the man himself. Understand?"

Alex gave a hesitant nod.

Mrs. Jones smiled, mistaking his quiet unease as simple nervousness. "Don't worry, Alex. I'm very certain you'll do just fine. Now, you better get those files read over, because you're leaving tomorrow morning."

Alex took that as a dismissal, and wordlessly turned around, and left the room. The files were held in a grip so tight, the knuckles were bone white. The hand that grasped the files was shaking, but nobody noticed that.

Not even Alex.

oOo

_Simple._

_Easy._

_Not hard at all._

_That's what they all say._

_But it isn't; don't they realize?_

_Murder is never simple._

_I know. Because I've done it once. And it ruined my life._

_Because I'm about to go do it again._

_Murder. Take another's life. Kill._

_It's so very complicated. . . I - I. . ._

_I can't do this. Not again._

_Please. . .not again. . ._


	6. Five: Rockshire

_You guys have all been so patient - thanks. I feel bad for make you wait so long, especially after all of the reviews and alerts I've been getting. Nevertheless, here is another chapter - the longest one yet. Also, I am not promising anything, but if any of you could tell me which book the K-Unit appears in, it would be greatly appreciated. I need to some 'research'. :)_

* * *

_**FIVE**_

_So this is Rockshire High School._

Alex stood on the school campus, having just been dropped off by his 'mother.' It looked like an ordinary school to him. In fact, it looked a lot like his old school.

A deep pang struck him.

He would never see his friends again. He could never go back to his old school, and pretend that he was just another, normal boy. It was impossible now.

Slowly, he started forward, forcing his thoughts to go away. Forcing his mind to empty, to become blank. If he thought too much, he'd -

_Those eyes, so glassy and wide, the horror, that neat hole - _

No! _Stop it, Alex, just stop it! Don't think!_

For a moment, he nearly stumbled, but quickly regained his footing, and continued on. His face became an unreadable mask, as Alex 'Grohier,' a transfer student from Paris, stepped inside Rockshire High.

ararara

The secretary was a plump, overbearing woman. She meant well, he knew, but it was. . .a bit too much. Too much perfume, too much make-up, too much _niceness. _

He waited quietly as she checked through his papers, and entered his information into the computer. She checked, and rechecked everything, taking her time. Alex was left to stand there, breathing through his mouth in attempt to hold back the overwhelming smell of her flowery perfume. It permeated throughout the entire room – he'd even smelled it in the hall outside the office.

Finally, she printed something out, and delicately held the paper in an outstretched hand. "There you go, Awex," she boomed out, her voice loud, with a slight lisp. "That is your schedule, so don't lose it, awight?"

He took the paper from her without even looking at it. He already knew where everything was, having already memorized the setup of the entire school.

"Now if you'll just wait, someone will be along to show you awound, Awex. Awight?"

He nodded once. Then silently moved over to a plastic chair along the wall, and eased himself down. For the next four minutes, he sat stiffly, as still as a stone. His mind empty, his expression blank. He closed his eyes, fighting to keep the flood of thoughts from coming.

If he could just manage to . . .not think, then he'd be all right.

"There you are, Cindy!" The secretary's booming voice shattered the silence of the office. "He's just wight there! Awight?"

Alex opened his eyes to see a slender redhead standing in front of him. Her hair was in two short braids, making her look like a young child instead of a teenager. She stared at him boldly for a moment, then put her hands on her hips.

"Are you really from Paris?"

Alex blinked, then nodded. "Yes."

"Then say something in French."

"Why?"

"Because."

Alex sighed, then got to his feet. Why was everyone he met today so annoying? "I don't feel like it." Why couldn't he just go to class and get this whole ordeal over with?

"You don't sound French," she said accusingly. "Your English is too good – there's no accent!"

His head was starting hurt. "Can we just go to my classroom?"

She huffed, and pushed past him to lead the way. Alex followed after her, wearily rubbing his now-aching head. This was going to be a long day.

arararara

"What are you going to do?"

Alan Blunt frowned slightly as he heard the question. It was a perfectly good question, understandable, even expected, under the circumstances. It was just the issue which the inquiry was directed at.

He worked his tongue around the peppermint in his mouth, as if the exercise would help him think better. It didn't, really. He wasn't even sure why he kept popping the sweets into his mouth; he didn't even enjoy them. They tasted. . .bitter.

Ah, yes. What _was _he going to do? He eyed the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting across from him. The man was in his late thirties, with serious brown eyes that were as worn and weary as the Great Pyramid itself.

"It's under control," Alan Blunt said finally. "I've got him under observation for the time being, and the plan is being carried out."

"Yes, yes, I understand all of that," the man returned. "But what if it doesn't work? You're going to have to make the decision, sooner or later. Sooner is better than later," he added.

"I'm quite sure it will work," Blunt's frown deepened. It was almost as if he didn't believe his own words. "If not, I'm readying another plan. One with more. . .firepower."

The man looked at him. Then, "Very well. If your. . .plans fail, then I will step in. And I will not hesitate, Mr. Blunt. We cannot allow Alex Rider to continue what he is doing. In any way, we must stop him."

The man's gaze became a hard, warning stare. Alan Blunt wondered if the situation was as serious as the man made it out to be. Then again, he wasn't a part of _that,_ so he really would have no idea. In any case, he had no interest in being a part the man's business.

However, he felt that it was very important that he kept Alex Rider from truly _ becoming_ that man's business. He waited until the man got up and left, then sighed heavily.

Things were getting rather irritating. Perhaps another peppermint would help.

ararararar

_Why?_

_Why couldn't I just be like them?_

_So clueless, so innocent, so carefree? _

_They don't know. They don't know what it's like. To see someone die. To see them take their last breath. To see them struggle so hard, just to survive, because they didn't want to give up their life, their life which had been stolen from them._

_It changes a person._

_Turns them into something else. Something without a heart. Something dead and empty._

_So why?_

_Why couldn't I have been born into an ordinary family?_

_Why couldn't I have been an ordinary boy?_

_Please, tell me._

_Why?_

ararararar

Two days.

It's been two days since Alex started attending Rockshire. So far, he'd learned a few things. First, it was a completely normal school filled with generally happy teens who wanted nothing more than to live life.

Second, Stronson's son was a huge tennis player. He was called Ricard, and spent all of his spare time playing on one of the tennis courts that the school had. As a result, he was rather snobbish, had very few friends, and was somewhat difficult to approach. Alex had no idea how he was supposed to get close to this character.

And thirdly, although he was the vice-principal, Stronson himself was rarely around. Alex had no idea where the man spent his time. But if he wanted to find the man, he'd have to become friendly with Ricard.

Which wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Alex stuffed his hands into his pockets, and turned away from the tennis courts. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes watching Ricard play against some poor tennis club member, and he had to admit – the snob was pretty good.

_But his father still has to die._

Alex clenched his fists. He made his mind empty. Then he continued on, walking back to the main school building.

Back to the mission. How would he earn Ricard's trust?

Through tennis, maybe? It was possible. Alex himself wasn't a bad player, although he wasn't the best, either. Perhaps he could offer to play a game with Ricard.

From what he had seen, though, he would most likely lose. And then Ricard would probably smirk and sneer, and be his snobby self, feeling all superior, etc. No, what Alex had to do, was somehow catch Ricard's interest.

Make the game more interesting. _More_ than just a game.

Alex's mind started turning gears. And he almost smiled as he thought up a few ideas. _Almost _ smiled, before he remembered.

_His father still has to die._


	7. Six: Slave

_**SIX**_

It was the next day; three days of him as a French transfer student. Three days of him pretending to be a normal schoolboy, which was something he wished he could be, and something that he could never be, never again.

Staining to keep his mind empty of such dark thoughts, Alex now strode over to the tennis courts. It was lunch break, so he had an hour to become Ricard's friend. A short hour to somehow get close to that snobby, arrogant brat. It was nearly impossible, but Alex walked towards the courts with an idea in his head.

Ricard was currently snickering as he tried to bully a small boy into playing against him. The boy was smart enough to realize that he'd lose within three seconds, and that if he'd lost, he'd have to suffer through Ricard's mockery. It was clear that the rich kid had an uncanny skill for making someone feel lower than a grain of dirt in a matter of seconds.

Alex stepped through the gate in the chain-link fence, closing it behind him. "Hey," he called out. Both boys looked over at him, but he focused his gaze on Ricard in particular. "Are you Ricard?"

"Yeah, what of it?" Ricard retorted. The smaller boy took this chance to get out of there, wasting no time at all.

Alex put on a confident smile, and picked up a spare tennis racket that had been leaning against the fence. "I heard you're somewhat decent in tennis."

"Huh?" Ricard scrunched up his round face as he eyed Alex, his expression showing both suspicion and disbelief. "You wanna play?"

In answer, Alex swung the racket in a back-hand motion, as if testing it out. Shouldering it, he cocked his head in a confident manner. "What's the matter? Don't want to play?"

Ricard wasn't sure what to think of this. "Why should I play you?"

Alex made a grin. "Because if you lose, you have to follow me around for the next twenty-four hours, and be my slave. You'll have to do whatever I want."

"Huh?!" Ricard blinked, his jaw going slack. "Are you ki-?!"

"You scared?" Alex said the magic words. At once, Ricard's face hardened.

"All right. But if _I _win, _you_ have to be my slave. For twenty-four straight hours, got it?"

Alex smiled. It was his own smile this time, but it wasn't one of joy or amusement. It was nothing more than the smile of a predator who had finally cornered his prey. He crossed over to the other side of the net.

"Let's play."

cccc

"Sir?" A young man poked his head into Alan Blunt's office. "Mr. Algonthin is here?"

Alan Blunt looked up from the mess of papers on his desk. He regarded the young aide with a severe expression. "Send him in, then."

"Yes, sir!" The aide pulled his head from view, and hurriedly shut the door. Moments later, it opened again, this time admitting a tall, thin man. He seemed to have more bones than meat on him, and it was a wonder that he was able to move as gracefully as he did.

Algonthin went straight to one of the chairs placed in front of the desk, and folded his long limbs into a sitting position. His dark eyes bright, he quietly watched Alan Blunt.

"I apologize for not informing you earlier," Blunt began. His tone made it clear that he wasn't sorry at all. "But it is a matter of extreme importance. The position needs to be filled, you understand. With Mrs. Jones no longer here, it has become a bit of a barn. Too much duties left undone."

Algonthin just blinked.

"So as of this moment," Blunt went on, completely unfazed by the new Deputy Head's lack of response, "I am handing this Rider business over to you. I'll have the information transferred over right away. I want this handled as quickly and quietly as possible. And," Blunt paused, interlocking his fingers, and resting his chin on them, "I want the boy unharmed."

Then he straightened, as Algonthin merely blinked again. Not even a muscle on the man's face twitched. It was sort of creepy. But being the professional he was, Blunt didn't let it bother him. "You have one week to bring Rider back here, alive. That is all."

Immediately, Algonthin abruptly stood, his movement startling in its suddenness. He whirled lightly on one heel, and within three strides, was at the door. Without looking back, he opened the door, stepped through, and closed it quietly behind him.

Finally alone in his office, Alan Blunt leaned back in his chair, heaving out a heavy sigh. Algonthin was sure to get the job done. He was ever so efficient and excellent at what he did, despite his rather...strange personality. The man was the best choice for Mrs. Jones replacement, after all. This would be a good first mission as the new Deputy Head.

Undoubtedly, the man would spend all evening and night studying every scrap of information that related to Alex Rider. And in the morning, he would have a plan of action that would be nearly guaranteed to succeed. Algonthin definitely would bring the boy back within seven days' time. Perhaps earlier.

Blunt pulled a peppermint candy from the half-empty jar on his desk. As he unwrapped it, he wondered if he was going soft.

If had it been any other MI6 agent, he wouldn't have hesitated in ordering their immediate assassination. But Alex. . .he was just a boy. A child. A useful child, at that. And the fact that MI6 had killed his father – that was a lie. Scorpia had lied to him – and the results of that lie were very ugly indeed.

He _was _getting soft. He was thinking that there was hope for the boy. Once they'd get him back, maybe they'd get their child agent back. Soft _and_ stupid, he scoffed at himself. Alex would never want to work for them again. And besides, he had killed.

Killing changes a person.

But that was one reason that it was very important to get him back. They needed to see what those changes were. To see if he truly was a remorseless killing machine. Blunt hoped not. It would be . . .unpleasant to have to kill the boy.

He placed the peppermint in his mouth, and grimaced. Like usual, it was bitter.

ARARARARARA

"Ha!" Ricard crowed, raising his racket above his head in triumph. "I won! I hope you like being a slave, Alex, 'cause that's what you are for the next twenty-four hours! Ha-ha!"

Alex was leaning on his racket, trying to get his wind back. He couldn't believe how much stamina that kid had – by just looking at his slighty chubby build, you'd think he'd move like a slug. Alex himself was very athletic and quick on his feet, but that had meant nothing in this game. Ricard was nothing short of a prodigy.

But losing the game was no big deal. In fact, Alex had been counting on losing. The little bet he had instigated would now enable him to get close to Ricard's father. Close so he could kill him.

His slight smile slipped right off his face.

"Hey, slave!" Ricard called out, making sure his voice was loud enough so everyone in the near vicinity could hear. "I'm thirsty! Gimme some water!"

The boy's tone grated on Alex's ears, but he kept himself in check. The best way to handle this type of character was to act like one didn't care. So he set his racket aside, and put on an easy smile.

"That was a good game, wasn't it?" He said lightly. "And I lost, fair and square. You'll have to teach me, some time."

"Huh?" Ricard seemed a little taken back. This. . .wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting. He tried again. "Get me some water!" he demanded.

"Sure, sure, Master Ricard," Alex made a deep bow, his light smile still in place. And he jogged out of the court to fetch a bottle. As soon as his back was turned, his fake smile faded, and he heaved a sigh.

He'd done it. Tonight, he'd see Ricard's father. And tonight, he'd have to kill him.

Would he really be able to do it?

ARARARARARA

_Will he hate me?_

_If he knew, would he hate me?_

_I would. I would hate me._

_For I am the one who will kill his father. For I am the assassin of Scorpia, a murderer._

_His family, his loved one, his father – I will kill him._

_I will empty my head, my heart, and I will kill._

_And he will hate me. . ._

_. . ._

_. . .I do. _

_I do hate me._

* * *

_**Bad News: I am now a full-time college student, which means my infrequent updates will be even less frequent.**_

_**Good News: I will do my upmost to update at least once a month. I am only working on two stories, this one, and another on fictionpress. So depending on my work and school schedule, I WILL find time to write. So please be patient with me. Thanks...**_

* * *


	8. Seven: Mission

**Here ya go. I managed to fit writing this in between my Midterms. An extra long chapter, so please let me know what you think!

* * *

**

_**SEVEN**_

A limo. Out of all things, Ricard got to travel to and from school in a limousine. Alex didn't know whether to laugh, or scoff in disgust. Rich kids. . . .they were just annoying brats. But he didn't say anything, and quietly stepped into the limo behind Ricard.

"This is great!" Ricard crowed, as soon as the driver started to drive off. "I get a slave to everything for me!"

Alex held back a scowl, and stared out the nearest window. He wasn't enjoying this limo ride at all. "Don't you have servants?"

"Not much," Ricard replied. "Just the cook, and the maid, and butler, and the gardener, and the nanny." He cackled. "You must be pretty stupid to make a bet you can't win, slave."

Alex smiled grimly. Stupid? If only the brat knew. . .

ARAR

A hotel. They left her in a hotel room by herself, while they went out to do whatever it is MI6 agents do. It was frustrating! Jack growled, and flopped onto the bed.

At least it was a nice bed, in a nice hotel room. There even was a basket of fruit on the table if she got hungry. But – how could they expect her to wait quietly in this room while Alex was out _there_. With Scorpia.

Scorpia was an organization of assassins. People who killed to accomplish some evil goal of theirs. That's what she'd been told by Alan Blunt; that was _all _she'd been told. That, and the fact that Alex had killed Mrs. Jones.

And they expected her to wait quietly.

"Tsch!" Who were they kidding? There was no _way _she'd wait! She leaped up from the bed, and grabbed her coat from where it had been slung over the back of a chair. Walking to the door, she passed the table, and paused.

Maybe Alex would be hungry when she found him. She grabbed a Granny Smith apple from the basket, and slipped it inside a pocket. Then she went to the door.

Just as she reached out for the handle, there was a light knock. "Eh?" She pulled back from the door, startled. The knock came again.

Was it the agents? Had they found where Alex was? Jack stepped forward, and hurriedly opened the door, a hopeful smile on her face.

Instead of the familiar MI6 agents stood a very peculiar man. Both tall and thin, he seemed to have more bones than muscle. He gazed at her with intent dark eyes, and blinked.

She stared.

He blinked.

Then hesitantly, she asked, "Who – who are you?"

Not a muscle in his face moved. So it came as a surprise when she heard this voice. It was soft and quiet, and she had no idea where it came from. "Algonthin, the new Deputy Head of MI6. I have found Alex. Please, come."

"Uh. . .you – Deputy Head? Um, can I see some id?"

A mere second later, he was holding a badge under her nose. She gawked – she hadn't even seen him _move_! Jack looked at the badge. It said MI6. . . .it looked real, and this guy. . .

"Um, okay. I'll go with you."

He blinked. Then stepped back to allow her through the doorway.

ARARARA

A mansion. Ricard lived in a gigantic house that pretty much a mansion. Alex couldn't help but admit that he was impressed. Of course, he'd never say anything to Ricard about that. The brat would just get all the more high and mighty.

As the driver came around to open the door, Alex noticed that Ricard's snotty grin had disappeared. In its place was a serious expression. It piqued his curiosity. Since when did Ricard ever get serious?

Ricard climbed out first, then mumbled halfheartedly, "Come on, slave. We're here."

Huh? Now this was somewhat. . .strange. Alex followed silently, hands buried deep within his pockets. In his right pocket, his hand clenched tightly around the cold metal of a small pistol. It was so tiny it could be hidden with one hand. Of course, since it was so small, it could only hold two rounds, but for this purpose, it would be perfect.

Nile had suggested taking a knife, but Alex just wasn't comfortable with stabbing someone. Not that he was comfortable with shooting someone either, but he had already done it once. If he had done it once, he could do it again, right?

_Stop it._

Just like he had killed Mrs. Jones, he could -

_Stop it!_

_-_make another neat, little hole, right between the eyes -

_STOP IT! Don't think, don't think, don'tthink!_

"Hey, slave! Are you going to stand there all day?"

"Huh?" Alex took a deep breath, and forced his mind to blank. Forcing his right hand to release its death grip on the weapon, he took it out of the pocket. He looked up to see a slightly bewildered look on Ricard's face, and realized that he had just been standing there while he. . .blanked out.

"Yeah. . .yeah, I'm coming." He hurried after Ricard, concentrating on having nothing but white space inside his head.

ARARARA

Jack sat rigidly in the passenger seat of the nondescript black car, heart pounding. One hand clenched the armrest tightly, while the other was curled into a worried fist.

"You've found Alex?" She anxiously asked of Mr. Algonthin, who was driving. "Is that where we're going? Where is he? Is he all right? Did he - ?"

"Yes," came his soft voice. Once again, she marveled at how he was able to speak without even twitching a facial muscle. It was kind of creepy. Maybe he had been a ventriloquist before he became an agent – but that didn't matter now. "He is attending the Rockshire school, and staying with a Scorpia agent in small apartment. They are posing as mother and son, while his job is to assassinate a certain vice president, Gerald Stronson."

"What?!" Jack exclaimed. "But that's – Alex wouldn't do that! He wouldn't kill - !"

"Alex has already killed Mrs. Jones."

Jack deflated, slumping against her seat. "But he – that's not the Alex I know! He would never hurt someone else."

"That may be. However, that was before Scorpia found him."

"Scorpia," she whispered. It was them who had done this to dear Alex. They, who had lied and manipulated and twisted the poor boy's mind until they had driven him to kill. "Please, get me there quickly."

Algonthin blinked.

ARARARA

The inside of the mansion was exactly as Alex could've imagined – cherry wood paneling and ornate wallpaper for the walls, luxurious hardwood and expensive carpet for the floors, and glistening chandeliers dangling from the ceilings. Not to mention that everything shined and sparkled without a speck of dust to be seen.

"Nice place, huh?" Ricard grinned at Alex, seemingly back to his normal self. Alex nodded in reply, his face a carefully schooled mask.

"Listen up, slave," Ricard went on, his chubby self trying to appear threatening. It didn't work. "While you're here, if my father asks, you're just spending the night as a friend, all right? But that doesn't mean you're not my slave, because you are! You lost the bet, all right?"

Alex shrugged. "Whatever you say, Master." Didn't matter to him. He was only here for one reason, so whatever he had to do to accomplish his mission, he'd -

_Don't think._

"So," Alex began, "Where _is _your dad?"

_Just. . .don't think._

"Here," Ricard threw both his school bag and jacket at Alex, who barely managed to catch them. "Put those somewhere." With a sigh, Alex looked around, and spotted a coat rack by the door. He hung up Ricard's jacket, and set the school bag under it.

When he turned around, Ricard was nowhere in sight. Alex shrugged, then walked though the nearest doorway. It was a living room, complete with a huge fireplace, and comfy chairs. A older lady was busy dusting the coffee table.

_Must be the maid. _Alex turned to leave, but she chose that moment to look up, and noticed him. "Oh!" Her hands flew up in surprise. "Who – who are you?"

"Ah, I'm sorry," Alex said. "I'm a friend of Ricard's. He said I could come over and stay the night."

"A friend?" She sounded shocked.

"Yes."

"A-and he brought you home? To stay the night?" Her eyes were wide.

"Yes. . ." Alex nodded. Ricard must not have very many friends, judging by the way she was looking at him.

"Oh, oh my! I must go tell Reginald to cook for one more person!" She set down her duster, and rushed off through another doorway. Alex watched her go.

Then he turned, and headed out the door he came in, only to bump into Ricard. The chubby boy wore a scowl. "Where'd you go? Don't go wandering off in my house."

"Sorry," Alex put on a sheepish smile. "You disappeared, and it's such a big house. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, just follow me. Father wants to meet you."

_Father. . ._

Gerald Stronson. Alex's heart froze. The man he was supposed to kill. Suddenly, the small pistol in his pocket seemed so heavy and huge. It felt like a hot flame that would burn right through the pocket and drop heavily to the floor, in plain view of everyone.

_No. Calm down. _Alex swallowed, and wiped away the sweat that was starting to form on his forehead. Then he went to meet the man he was going to kill.

ARARARAR

Algonthin's cellphone started to ring as he was driving. Keeping one hand on the wheel he slipped the other inside his suit jacket, and pulled it out. He flipped it open, and held it up to his ear without saying anything.

"What is it?" Jack asked. She watched as he held the phone to his ear, and listen silently to whatever was being said on the other side. After a long moment, he flipped his phone shut, and put it away.

"Mr. Algonthin?"

"Alex went home with Stronson's son," he softly said.

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?" Then her eyes grew wide. "Stronson's son? You mean - ?!"

"Yes." Algonthin changed lanes, and took the next exit off the freeway. His expression was the same blank mask as ever, but Jack could swear that his dark eyes had taken on a strange gleam. She swallowed nervously.

"Alex. . ." _What are you thinking?_

ARARARARA

The meal was splendid. It was very similar to the other meals Alex had been served in the past – extravagant meals that he once eaten when he was a spy on a mission. Meals that had been served by the enemy.

This time, however, Alex couldn't taste anything. Every bit of food that he forced down his throat tasted like sawdust. Maybe it was because he just wasn't hungry. Or maybe it was because he was sitting right across from Gerald Stronson.

The man, who looked like any other working father in the world, was smiling pleasantly at him. When Alex had been introduced to him, he had practically beamed, obviously happy that his son had finally found a friend.

But Alex wasn't a friend.

Ricard had been embarrassed, and strangely quiet. As Alex had watched, he had noticed that Ricard seemed to bask in his father's happiness and praise on bringing a friend home. It was kind of pitiful. Ricard turned out to be another of those rich kids who did anything to earn their parents attention. And when they got it, they were the happiest beings alive.

"So Alex," Stronson exclaimed after a bite of veal, "I haven't seen you around the school. Are you new?"

Alex opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Ricard broke in. "He's a transfer student, Father. From France."

"Oh, really? You are French, then?"

"Yes," Alex answered. He swallowed another mouthful of sawdust, and tried to smile.

"You don't even have an accent! Marvelous! Ricard," Stronson looked over at his son, "you picked a very smart boy to be your friend."

Ricard grinned. It wasn't a snobbish grin, but a happy grin. Alex looked away. The whole scene was twisting a knife into his gut.

Thankfully, the ringing of a phone interrupted their meal. Shortly after, an immaculately dressed butler came up to the table, carrying a cordless phone. He bowed. "Excuse me, Master Stronson. But you have a phone call from. . .Mr. Smith."

"Ah! Thank you, Charles. I'll take it." Stronson rose from his chair, placing his napkin down beside his plate.

"Father!" Ricard protested. "You promised to spend the evening with me!"

Stronson smiled at his son. "I'm sorry, Ricard. But this is an important call that I cannot miss. Play with your friend instead, all right?"

Ricard slumped, a dejected expression on his face. Alex watched as Mr. Stronson left the room. Mr. Smith? That was an obviously fake name. Who could be calling that was important enough to make the Vice-Principal of a school forgo an evening with his only child?

Something was odd. Either Stronson really didn't care much for his child – which was totally out of the question, since Alex could tell that the man cared for Ricard – or the man was in some strange business. Was this why Scorpia wanted the man killed?

Alex suddenly felt sick. He couldn't do this. He couldn't kill Ricard's father.

_But you have to. It's your mission. _

He stood up. "Where's your washroom?"

"Down the hall, second door to the left," Ricard muttered moodily.

"Thanks." Alex hurried, hoping to make it before his stomach emptied itself.

ARARARARA

_Please, _Jack prayed. _Please let us get there before he does something stupid. Please. . ._

"Hurry!" She practically yelled at Algonthin. "Drive faster! We have to get there so I can stop him!"

Algonthin merely blinked, and increased the speed. The black car roared down the road, passing cars left, right and center. It didn't matter that they were breaking the speed limit by 50 miles per hour. The new Deputy Head somehow seemed to understand Jack's urgency, and would get them to the Stronson House as quickly as possible.

ARARARARARA

_It is my mission._

_I am an assassin. I must complete my mission._

_My father was an assassin. He killed for Scorpia, and was killed by MI6. _

_So in turn, I must be an assassin. I must kill for Scorpia._

_I still my trembling hand, calm my churning stomach. There is nothing left to bring up, anyway. My stomach is empty. My head also is empty, save for my mission. _

_I hold my weapon in my hand, and I leave. I will complete my mission now._

_The maid is hesitant to tell me where the target is, but she caves under my fake smile. To her, I am just an innocent boy, the one who dared to befriend the rich brat. _

_I find the study easily. After all, it isn't hard for an assassin to hunt down its prey._

_I will complete my mission._

_I knock on the door. The target lets me in, obviously done with his phone call. He wants to know why I have come to see him. He says he is happy that I am friends with his son. He says that his work is very demanding, and that he has little time for his son. He says that ever since his wife died, his son hasn't had anyone to properly look after him. _

_Why is he telling me this? _

_I – I must complete my mission. I am a killer. A murderer. And I will finish my mission!_

_I raise my hand from where I have hidden it from behind my back. And he stops dead, confused. Then he tries to smile, and asks what kind of joke is this._

_My hand tries to shake, but I force it to still. My finger curls around the trigger, and I struggle to freeze my pounding heart. _

_Father? Ricard's voice! No! He cannot - _

_Alex? What are you do - _

_No! He cannot - _

_DON"T MOVE!_

_Please, none of you move._

_You can't - _

_I can't - _

_Mission. _

_I . . . I need to complete my mission._

_Why? Why are you doing this?_

_Why am I doing this? Because. _

_Because I am an assassin. I will complete my mission – I must!_

_My arm moves slowly, aiming. Aiming the weapon at the right spot, right between those eyes. There, it will create a perfect hit, killing him instantly, making a neat hole - _

_My hand shakes, as images flash before my mind. Her eyes, her blood - _

_Stop. . .Stop it! _

_They killed my father! My FATHER! And I am only following in his footsteps now. I have killed once. I can't go back, not anymore. It's too late. I must kill. . .for Scorpia. For my father._

_So I tighten my finger, and close my eyes._

_The gunshot shatters the silence, and someone screams._


	9. Eight: Pieces

_I'm not too tickled about the new layout for FF. It's harder to do things on your account. . .meh. I guess I'll just have to get used to it, but I really hope they don't make the same changes to fictionpress. Anyway, enough of my complaining. Here's another chapter about poor Alex. Before I go away, I just want to thank all of you who have reviewed. You people are awesome! It's a huge encouragement to see that so many of you are enjoying this story. Thank you._

* * *

_**EIGHT**_

Silence.

Heavy. . .stifling. . . thick and chilling. . .utter silence. Alex felt like a stone statue, shouldering the entire weight of the universe. So quiet. . .so cold. . .so numb. . .

He slowly shifted his gaze down, towards his feet. His feet, where Mr. Stronson lay.

Frozen. The man was frozen into silence. So still, so quiet.

Alex was numb. _I killed him. _He noticed then, a small, neat hole situated just above the man's left eyebrow. A few, fat drops of blood were oozing out.

_Another perfect hole. . .and there's less blood this time._

"W-why. . .?" A strangled, tortured sob broke into his dull observations.

_Oh. . .Ricard. I forgot about Ricard._

The slightly chubby boy was on his knees, inches away from his dead father. So close, and yet, so far away. Ricard stared at his father, eyes wide with shock, mouth slack with disbelief. Trembling, he looked up at Alex.

"You – you shot him. You. . .shot my father."

Alex blinked, and gazed at the small weapon in his hand. _Yeah. . .I guess I did._ Woodenly, he slid the weapon back in his pocket. He didn't need it anymore. His mission was done. Finished.

"Why?!" Ricard suddenly screamed. "Why did you lie to me? Why did you kill him?! Why?"

Numbly, Alex wondered the same thing. Yet, he couldn't seem to find the answer. Everything seemed to be covered in a thick fog. A cold fog that stretched its fingers deeper and deeper into the cracks, searing and freezing and numbing as it went.

As he stared at Ricard in a dumbfounded manner, it occurred to him that the boy was waiting for an answer. _Needing_ some kind of an answer. Alex struggled to figure it out, and finally, something floated into his muddled brain. His mouth automatically moved to speak it aloud.

"Mission. . ." he whispered. "It was my mission."

_That's right. It was my mission, and I finished it. I'm done._

With that thought, Alex realized that he no longer needed to stay. It was time for him to return. To go back to Scorpia. So he silently turned, and walked out of the study, and into the hall.

An enraged, agonized scream followed him, shaking with pain and shock and loss. Alex barely heard it, barely registered the sound. After all, it was just a simple echo of what shrieked behind the numbing fog.

_Father. . .I completed my mission. . .just like I was supposed to. I killed him, just as they told me to. Are you proud of me, Dad? I'm doing just what you did, before you died. Am I. . .just like you, now?_

XXxxXX

This was the house. The house where Alex was supposed to kill someone. Jack could hardly wait for the car to come to a stop. As soon as it was safe to do so, she threw open the door, and leaped out. Her Alex was inside this place, and if she didn't do something, he'd -

She ran. Fear sent her straight to the front door at an incredible speed. Jack whipped out a hand for the handle, reaching out to throw open the door.

Before she could touch it, it opened. A stranger stood in the open doorway.

Jack jerked to a stop. She stared, suddenly finding herself staring at a young, pale face. A face, which was vaguely familiar. A face that was also completely blank. Empty. It was like a pale mask, framed with wild blond hair.

Her heart started to pound slowly, so horrifically slowly. This stranger. . .was he. . .? She met the boy's gaze, and instantly flinched back. At first glance, those brown orbs were dead. Just. . .dull and flat. But as she made herself look closer, she saw.

Never in her life had she seen a gaze that screamed so loud. It was crying and yelling and shrieking all at the same time. Those eyes were _begging_ for help, for something – _anything_ to heal their pain, to save them.

"Alex?" she whispered, totally shocked and horrified. _No. . .please, please don't let this be my little Alex. This can't be him – not this broken shell. . ._ Yet, she knew, without a doubt. This was Alex. And he definitely had just killed a person.

XxxX

At once, the boy in the doorway jerked, a brief look of horror crossing his face. At that same instant, his mask broke, and his blank mind shook as so many things rushed inside.

_. . . only a little blood came out this time. . ._

_Jack! It's Jack – she's _here! _ She's - _

_I want - _

_....two neat little holes – one, two. . . ._

_No! She can't be here! She'll – she won't understand! About my father, about MI6, about Scorpia!_

_....are you proud now? I can kill, just like you. . ._

_I want to hug her. . ._

_She can't know! If she finds out that I've killed – I'll - _

_. . .faces, forever frozen in shock, forever frozen in death. . ._

_I want to cry on her shoulder. . ._

_She'll hate me. I can't let that hurt her! I can't share this nightmare with her! Jack. . ._

_. . .mission completed. I killed. . . ._

_I want her to understand. . ._

_Jack, please, go away! Get out of here! While you still can. . ._

_. . .again. And I will do it again. . . ._

_Please. . ._

_. . .because I am an assassin, now. . ._

_Help me._

"Jack," Alex felt so overwhelmed. Inside his head, something was both begging and shrieking at the same time, telling him to run away, tell him to throw himself into Jack's arms and cry. . .

For a moment, he was frozen, not knowing what to do. Then an image, that horrible, cursed image flashed into his mind, and he long as blood coated his hands, he could never go back. It was too late.

He belonged to Scorpia, just as his father had. And Jack. . .she didn't deserve to be dragged into that mess. That horror, that pain. That death. . .

Swallowing harshly, Alex clenched his fists. His vision became blurry, as tears threatened to spill free. This was for the best.

Methodically, he wiped the images, the screams, the blood – everything from his mind, forcing it to become an ocean of emptiness. His face a blank mask once again, he met Jack's gaze dead on.

"Good-bye, Jack."

Then he stepped around her, and broke into a run. He had to get out of here, and fast. It wouldn't be long before the police would be swarming this place, along with MI6. And by that time, he needed to be safe within Scorpia's chilling embrace.

Safe.

Alex found himself making a strange sound – something between a broken chuckle and a sob.

XxxX

She stared after him, only vaguely aware of a shattering sensation somewhere deep inside her. Something had just torn, just broken, and Alex had just left her.

Alone. Her Alex. . .was no longer her Alex. He had become a weapon of Scorpia.

Jack fell to her knees, tears starting to break free. Her poor Alex. . .he was so broken, hurting, suffering. . . She wanted to help him! She wanted to hug him, and tell him everything was all right. He didn't have to murder people – he was just a _child _for crying out loud!

Just a little boy. He should be in school, studying and fooling around with kids his own age. He should be worrying about what to wear for his first date with a cute girl, or getting into trouble for some harmless prank.

Yet. . .he had become a killer. He had become a part of a world that no child should even know about. And he was hurting so bad inside. . .

Jack sniffled, and wiped her eyes. Getting to her feet, she looked back to the car, where Algonthin was waiting. The man stood silently beside the car, his bright eyes intent on the fleeing figure of Alex.

She walked over to the car, sat in the passenger seat, and closed the door. "Take me to MI6," she said to him. "I don't care what it takes, I want that child back with me, where he belongs. I know now that he doesn't want any part of what he's involved in. And I will do whatever I can to help get him back."

Wordlessly, Algonthin looked down at her. He blinked, then got back in the car. Seconds later, the vehicle was roaring down the street, making a beeline for the city's MI6 headquarters.


	10. Nine: Trapped

_Thanks for being so patient - I just got through 8 Final exams. Not very much fun, I tell you. Since I'm practically done, here's a chapter to celebrate. :) I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for all of your reviews, story alerts and favorites._

EDIT: Someone mentioned that K-unit probably didn't know Alex by his real name, so I just fixed that. :D

_

* * *

_

_**NINE**_

Alex stood still, head tilted upwards. Ice-cold water cascaded down from the shower head, numbing his skin with its icy touch. Behind his closed eyes, he saw it, over and over again. The dead man, the hole, the tears sliding down red cheeks, the anguish in Ricard's eyes. . .

The water was so cold – it numbed his skin so that he couldn't feel it anymore – so why couldn't it numb the pain inside? Why couldn't it simply wash it away, and leave him free?

Life wasn't like that, though. He had decided to kill, and now he had to face that decision. Even if the man was a criminal, like the file had said.

He took a deep breath, and turned off the water. He shivered fiercely, goosebumps forming all over his wet skin. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist.

There was a mirror above the bathroom sink; Alex paused to look into it. The reflection was that of someone he did not recognize. The stranger's face seemed hard, like it was an expressionless porcelain mask. The eyes stared back at him hollowly, haunting him, and sending shudders down his spine. Those eyes – _his _eyes, scared him.

Abruptly, he turned away from the mirror, and padded over to the pile of clean clothing left on the counter beside the sink. Slowly, he pulled them on. Dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt with some logo on it, and a black bunny hug. He laced up a pair of black boots on his feet.

Dressed, he unlocked the door, and went outside. A man he'd never seen before was waiting for him.

"Come," the man ordered. "They want to see you."

Why couldn't they leave him alone, even for a few hours? He had just gotten back from his last mission. Alex wanted nothing more but to go to his room, and sleep. But he didn't utter a word; instead, he nodded, and followed the man.

He was taken to one of the meeting rooms. The man knocked once on the closed doors.

"Send him in," Julia Rothman's voice sounded from inside. A cold prickle formed on the back of Alex's neck. What was that woman going to do with him now?

"You heard her," the man said. Alex clenched his jaw, and pulled the door open. Then he went inside.

The table had four people sitting at it. One was Julia Rothman. The other three he had never seen before; one was Japanese, another was French, and the last looked European. These three regarded Alex with intent gazes that seemed to pin him tp the place he stood.

"Hello, Alex," Julia Rothman greeted him with a cold smile. "I'm sure you're very tired, but this could not wait. These people here are members of Scorpia, and they very much wanted to meet you."

Alex didn't know what to say. He just looked at them blankly, not sure if he should feel awed or frightened. He was just so very tired and cold.

Julia gestured to the Japanese man. "This is Mr. Mikato, and this," she waved a hand at the Frenchman, "is Pierre. And the last – you may call him Mr. Shanks."

Alex gave an hesitant nod in response.

"Now please, Alex, sit down. We have much we wish to discuss with you."

Moving woodenly, Alex did as he was told. He chose a chair that was on the opposite end of the Scorpia members, and sat down at the large, cherry wood table.

"Why am I here?" he asked tiredly.

Julia smiled. "You're here because you've proven that you complete a mission that's been assigned to you. And I must say, you did quite a good job of it too. The way you've gotten that boy to trust you, in order to get to his father – brilliant!"

Alex was suddenly so terribly cold. He clasped his hands together to hide their trembling. "You were watching me?"

"But of course! It was a test, Alex. And now that you've passed it, we've decided you were ready."

"Ready for what?"

"You will take part in our new plan, Alex," the Japanese man spoke up. His voice was soft, almost feminine, and just the sound of it made Alex nervous. "We have been waiting for someone like you. . .and now that you are here, we have a high chance of success."

"That's right," Julia added. "You, Alex, are the key to the whole plan. Now tell me, what do you know about the United States?"

Alex had to think back to what he learned in school. "It's a powerful country," he said. "Even though they have a huge debt, they're one of the superpowers. They probably have the one of the strongest military - "

"Yes," Pierre broke in. "It is a strong country – one that would benefit us if we were to control it."

Alex stared. "Control - ?"

"Control the United States, control a powerful military. They have the secret for the hydrogen bomb, and probably much more powerful weaponry. If we could direct the way that country develops, within the next ten years, we would have an unbeatable force!" Julia Rothman exclaimed, her eyes glinting greedily at the mere thought.

"Mrs. Rothman," Mr. Mikato said, his dark eyes fastening themselves on her. His tone was strangely foreboding. Rothman froze where she stood, then gave a quick nod. Alex looked from one to the other, trying to figure out what had just passed between the two.

"Now, Alex," Mr. Mikato turned his attention to him. "All you need to be concerned with is your part to play. Your job is two-fold. First, you will save the President of the United States' life, when someone attempts to kill him."

Mikato paused, holding Alex's gaze. After a moment, he continued, speaking softly, enunciating every word clearly.

"And when he bestows his gratitude upon you, you will get close to him, where none of his guards are near. And then, you will kill him."

Alex stared, his eyes growing round with shock. _Kill. . .the President? They – they can't be serious._

"I apologize," Mikato bowed his head briefly. "I see that killing has not yet come to you easily. But we have no time to get you accustomed to the act. At the end of this week, you will be in America."

The Japanese man went on to say something else, but Alex could no longer hear him. Inside his head there was a deafening, pounding silence that drowned out everything else.

_Kill the President. . ._

_I can't do that! What are they asking? What are they thinking? I cannot do this! _

_The President of the United States, the leader of that powerful country. . ._

_Do they know what they are asking?_

"Alex?"

"Huh?" Alex jerked back to reality, hearing his name come from the Frenchman, Pierre.

"You will do this, then?"

All four pairs of eyes were upon him, watching him intently. Staring at him. Waiting for him.

_No! I can't! I can't kill another person – especially not - _

_...you've already killed two. What's another one?..._

_But the President - ! He's not an evil man! He doesn't need to die!_

_...you've decided, though. That you will kill again if you need to. You're an assassin, now, remember?..._

_No! Please, no..._

_...you have no choice. It's too late to back out now. There is nowhere else for you to go..._

_I can't! I won't do this! I will not - _

"Yes," Alex softly said.

Mikato and Rothman smiled. The Frenchman and Mr. Shanks merely nodded.

"Good," Mikato said. "then you may leave. You look. . .weary."

Alex wordlessly got to his feet, and stiffly went to the door. He opened it slowly, went out, and closed it. Then he sagged against the wall.

_What have I done?_

_There is no way that I can do this. But. . .I am trapped. If that time comes, I fear. . ._

_-another hole, another dead body - _

_No._

_Somebody. . .please. . .somebody. . ._

_help me_

ARA

"Thank you."

After speaking into the phone, Algonthin hung up, and turned to the other person in the office. He regarded her for a moment. She looked exhausted, and he didn't blame her. Not after all she'd been through.

"They're here?" Jack Starbright asked. "The people that are going to help us get Alex?"

"Yes," Algonthin blinked. "They've just arrived."

"Who are they?"

"People who are familiar with Alex. Please, come," Algonthin made a graceful gesture, and headed toward the door. Jack followed him, wondering who these people were.

They were in a small business-type building. Something that dealt with stocks and bonds. But that was just a cover – like the bank. This building was also reserved for MI6's use.

They walked down a long hall, and stopped before a set of closed double doors. From the other side, they could hear voices.

"This is ridiculous! We were just pulled off in the middle of a mission!"

"Yeah, they didn't even tell us anything..."

"Just shut up," a low voice growled. There was a moment of silence, during which Algonthin pushed open the doors, and strode inside.

There were four men inside, stressed in dark green fatigues. Their faces were grimy with soot and dirt, and packs still filled with gear were resting on the floor beside them. They looked up at Algonthin, who merely blinked at them.

"You are familiar with Alex Rider?" he asked. "Or. . .I suppose you know him as. . .Cub?"


	11. Ten: Alone

**_Well! Here I am, with another chappie! I'm terribly sorry for not updating sooner - there's been so many alerts and hits. Thanks to all of you for all of your support! Without it, I'd probably be still on chapter two. _**

**_Also, someone mentioned that at the ending of the last chapter, that K-unit probably wouldn't know Alex by his real name. So I just went back and fixed it._**

**_Onwards, to the story!

* * *

  
_**

_**TEN**_

"I can't believe this," one of the SAS soldiers exclaimed. He was thin, fair-haired, and spoke with an obvious Scottish accent. He was known as Snake. "There's no way that the kid would've done that! Are you sure -"

"You didn't see him," Jack broke in, her voice trembling. She looked at each of the soldiers in turn, meeting their gazes. "He's so different. . .so sad. . . Please, you've worked with him before. I'm just asking you to find him, and bring him back."

"Why us?" The shortest of the four soldiers grunted. He was compactly built, with a once-broken nose and cool brown eyes. He was Wolf.

"Alex is familiar with you," Algonthin stepped in. The thin man once again managed to speak without seeming to. "If unknown agents were to chase after him, he'd only run away. However, if you showed up, there's a chance that he would cooperate."

"If what you're saying is true – that he's killed two people," a third soldier said, "what makes you think he's going to listen to us?" He regarded Jack and Algonthin with serious blue eyes. He was Fox. "Killing is no simple thing. He's probably not the same Cub we knew."

The K-Unit exchanged uncertain glances with each other. Jack watched their display of doubt, and clenched her fists.

"He's just a _child_!" she cried. "Are you just going to sit there, and let a _child_ destroy himself?! You should be ashamed – what kind of human being would stand by and watch a child go through something like this? I – I just - !" She covered her face and turned away from the group.

The soldiers looked properly ashamed. Three of them looked towards Wolf, waiting for his verdict. The gruff man grunted. "Fine."

Jack didn't turn around, but her voice drifted out to them. "Thank you."

Algonthin held out a thick file folder, and Wolf took it. "This contains everything you need to know," the deputy head said. "If you need anything, let me know. MI6 is at your service."

"Cool," the fourth soldier finally spoke up. Snake and Fox gave him a grim look, and the slightly dumb smile on his face faded quickly. Eagle sighed.

ARAR

"Hyaa!" The wiry man lunged forward, an open palm flying straight for Alex's face. Alex saw it coming, and silently ducked. The hand shot over his head, and he grabbed the man's wrist with both hands. A mere second later, the man was lying on his back, defeated.

Alex stared down at his opponent with empty eyes. Then he turned away, moving to walk off the mat.

"Wait!" The voice stopped him, and Alex turned to see a tall girl step onto the mat. She was May, a girl who had previously beaten him over and over again in these classes. She was one of the top students in the unarmed combat class. "Fight me," she said, a wicked smile curving her lips.

Alex stared at her. _It doesn't matter. In two days, I will be in Washington. Nothing can change that, now. _Wordlessly, he stepped forward, and settled into a low stance.

May's grin grew larger, and she started walking. She walked right around Alex in a large circle, watching him. Alex didn't move from his stance. He listened, letting her faint footsteps echo loudly inside his blank mind. Whenever she would come, he would be ready.

She came from behind, leaping up in a spectacular kick. Alex heard it - the moment her footfalls stopped, and her feet left the ground. He dove to the side, rolled, and got up in a crouch.

May was right there, her arm pulled back for a ferocious punch. He blocked it with a forearm, not even blinking at the impact. Alex watched her, and reacted without even thinking. He was like a machine, doing what it was supposed to, and nothing more.

Mechanically, he blocked her attacks one after another. Her eyes grew wide, stunned that she couldn't even land a hit. Before, she had always been the victor, but now. . .something was different. Alex was different.

She leaped backwards, putting some distance between them. It made no difference – Alex had chosen to go on the offensive. He came right at her, getting frighteningly close. Suddenly frightened, she backtracked, trying to get away.

She blinked -

- then he was there, right in her face. She froze, eyes wide. May never saw the fist that smashed into her gut. There was sparks. . .then darkness.

Alex looked down at her for a moment, his face a stone mask. He turned, then left the mat. A few people stepped out of his way; seeing that cold, expressionless face, nobody wanted to mess with him.

Alex didn't even notice them.

ARAR

_It's quiet._

_Not even an echo remains._

_Darkness. . .coldness. . ._

_Loneliness._

_Nothing remains._

_Emptiness._

ARAR

Alex stood alone, but he knew he wasn't alone. Scorpia agents were intermingled within the crowds, watching. They were here to ensure that everything went according to plan. That he got on the plane, and didn't run away.

_After all that I've done, they think I will run away? _

He glanced at his brand new watch. 2:15 p.m. His flight would leave in twenty minutes.

The couple in front of him stepped forward as the line shifted. Alex closed the space. Now he was three families away from the ticket counter. He'd already gone through customs – there had been no problem. His story that he was an Italian exchange student had held firm.

"Excuse me?" Alex turned to see an elderly woman behind him. She was grasping the arm of a young man – possibly her son. "Are you all by yourself, young man?"

"Yes." Alex made to turn back around, but she reached out with her free hand, and clutched his sleeve.

"Oh my! Aren't you afraid to be traveling all by yourself?"

Alex knew she meant well. But he really had no desire to talk with her. He put on a smile, and said, "No."

_Lady, I've become an assassin. A killer of people. Why should a plane flight scare me? _A dry, miserable voice cackled humorlessly inside his head.

"Well!" she beamed. "Aren't you all grown up! Your parents must be proud! Right, Charles?" She looked at her escort.

"Yes, Mother," The young man dutifully replied. He rolled his eyes at Alex, but his expression held no annoyance. Alex could see that the man adored her.

He turned around, and found that he was next in line. Alex stepped up to the counter, and handed the lady his ticket.

"Hello," she smiled at him. "All by yourself, today?"

"Yes."

Her name tag read Carol. She was probably in her forties, but had a warm, inviting smile. She stamped something on his passport, and ripped a piece off his ticket. Handing it back to him, Carol smiled. "Thank you. Enjoy your time in the United States."

Alex nodded. _I'm going to kill the President. How could I enjoy it? _He walked past the counter, heading for the walkway that led to the plane.

"Alex!" A voice shouted. Startled, Alex hesitated, and looked around.

_What? _

"Alex, wait!"

Alex picked out the voice then, pinpointing it to a young man in his twenties. He blinked. That man looked slightly familiar.. .

But it didn't matter. He had to get on the plane. That was his mission. He turned.

"Alex! Please, wait!" That second voice was vaguely familiar, too.

He looked over his shoulder, and froze. That first man was there, along with a second. And not far off from them, were another two. Each with vaguely familiar faces.

But it was enough. Alex knew who they were, and what they were doing here.

_K-Unit. They actually got K – Unit...!_

The back of his neck tingled. He couldn't do anything here – not with Scorpia watching him. He walked towards the walkway.

"Um, is there a problem?" Carol called after him. "Those people - "

"I don't know them," Alex said. He ignored their shouts, and headed for his plane. However, just as he stepped to the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder.

He met the eyes of the man he'd known as Wolf. The man was scowling, yet. . .there was something in his eyes. A concern that seemed out of place.

Alex suddenly felt an urge to run to the K-Unit. He wanted to escape from this nightmare, to get away from Scorpia's grasp. He knew, without a doubt, that K-Unit wanted to help him. He could see it in their eyes, the way they desperately tried to stop him.

But Scorpia was there.

And Alex. . .was no longer the cub they knew.

He gave a sad, bitter smile, and broke Wolf's gaze. And then he boarded his plane.

ARAR

K-Unit watched through a window as the plane took off. Fox swore. "Jack wasn't kidding," he muttered. "Cub is. . ." He clenched his fists.

"Why didn't he stop?" Snake asked no one in particular. "It was clear as day – he wanted out. So why didn't he stop?"

Wolf, who hadn't uttered a single word for the past ten minutes, stared at the shrinking dot that was Alex's plane. His eyes were dark. "He wasn't alone."

"Huh?" Eagle exclaimed. "What are you saying? I didn't see anyone!"

"No, Wolf's right," Fox said softly. "Can't you feel it? We're being watched. Probably by Scorpia, and Cu – er, Alex – knew that. He had no choice."

Wolf pulled away from the window. "Let's go."

"To where?" Eagle questioned.

"To the United States," Wolf answered gruffly. "I'm not sure why Scorpia's sending him there, but we've got to stop him."

"Right," Snake pulled out a cellphone from the folds of his jacket. "I'll give our lovely new friends a call."

K-Unit walked away from the window, and mixed with the crowds. Yet, even as they walked among all the people, there always seemed to be a few feet of space around them. People took one look at their grim, serious faces, and unconsciously stepped back.

And amongst the crowds, sharp eyes were fixed on the four men. Sharp, malevolent eyes.


	12. Eleven: Scare

**Here's the next one. I managed to get it done before my midterms, yay for me. ^^ Please enjoy, and drop a review! Thanks!

* * *

**

_**ELEVEN**_

He gazed out the window, watching the dark ocean below. Patches of clouds temporarily blocked the view. The dull thrumming of the engines vibrated throughout the large cabin, creating a constant sound. That did not bother the man seated next to Alex; the balding fellow was awkwardly sprawled in his seat, his head thrown back with uneven snores emitting from his open mouth.

A few seats away, a young mother was trying to shush her whimpering baby. The little one was threatening to break into earsplitting wails.

Alex closed his eyes, and turned away from the window. There wasn't much to see, anymore. The clouds were growing thicker. He leaned back in his seat, and followed the balding man's example.

However, he wouldn't sleep. He couldn't. Ever since _then_, he hadn't had a real sleep. He merely existed on fitful naps with echoing screams and raining blood.

Beside him, the man snored. The baby broke into angry shrieks. At the back of the plane, there was a loud crash as a flight attendant dropped a tray of dishes. The air thrummed relentlessly, resonating with the roar of the engines.

But Alex didn't hear any of it. He was already far away, floating in a dark, silent place.

ARAR

The plane was old, noisy, and cramped. Not to mention shaky. However, it was the only thing that MI6 had in the area that could get them to Washington in the same day.

It could hardly be called a plane. As Eagle put it, it was a scrap pile of metal that gained the ability to fly. Their pilot was a nervous, young guy who looked fresh out of high school.

Their ride lurched suddenly, nearly throwing them out of their seats. Eagle let out an annoyed sound, while their pilot shouted out something that sounded apologetic.

Fox smiled to no one in particular. "I'm surprised that MI6 had something as junky as this thing around."

"Tch. I'm just glad that it flies," Snake muttered. His thin face seemed somewhat green. It wasn't surprising, with the way the old plane seemed to skitter and bounce across the sky.

Wolf was turning over a strange gun in his hands. It was lighter than most its size, yet the barrel was wider and longer. It was currently unloaded. The weapon had been given to him by Algonthin just before they had taken off.

"Hey Wolf. What's that?" Eagle asked. Actually, he had a very good idea of what it was, but he wanted to hear it from their team leader.

"Hn," Wolf grunted, putting the weapon inside a holster that was slung across his shoulders. With his heavy, brown jacket over it, it was hidden from view. "Tranq gun."

"Oh..." Eagle grew somber. Just as he figured, but hearing it made him recall just what exactly this mission was about.

"If it doesn't work, our orders to aim for the legs or arms," Wolf spoke softly. His dark eyes were anything but happy. "We can't go back without him."

For a while, the only sound was the groaning of the fuselage, and the angry sputters of the twin engines. K – Unit fell silent, thinking over their grim task. And each of them wondered _why. _Why did Alex Rider join Scorpia? Why did he kill the former deputy head of MI6. And _why_ had he chosen to become an assassin?

ARAR

On March 13, at 2:15 p.m., the President of the United States would address the general public about the issue of the worsening global environment.

At 2:20 p.m., Alex had to be at the very front of the crowds, no less than fifty feet away from the President himself. Which wouldn't be very easy, due to the secret service. But they figured Alex could manage it, be the innocent looking boy he was. Alex inwardly scoffed at this.

When the clock hit 2:45, Alex was to let out an alarmed cry, and tackle the President. The sniper, who would be somewhere hidden, would send a bullet into the podium, making it seem like Alex saved the President's life.

The whole thing was full of holes and insanely risky. What was to stop the secret service from shooting Alex on the spot? How would the sniper even remain unnoticed from all of the security sweeps? Alex thought it was a stupid plan, and he'd even said so.

Scorpia didn't seem to care. All they did was smile, and tell Alex that his partner would take care of everything. All he had to do was play his part, and make sure the President got dead at the right time. Alex got the feeling that they were not telling him something. That they were withholding a ton of information that might have been otherwise handy. . .

He was probably going to die on this mission. There was no where in their plan that spoke of any measure of success, he thought.

Alex looked at the insanely crowded airport around him. People were _everywhere,_ raising up such a noise as they talked, argued, laughed, or shouted. There were so many shapes, colors, and sizes, Alex figured that a seven foot tall circus clown would have fit right in.

_Where were they?_ Someone was supposed to meet him. Alex checked his watch; he'd been waiting for over ten minutes now. He glanced at his one suitcase, making sure it was still by his feet. With such diverse people crowding into one place, it wouldn't be shocking if luggage mysteriously went missing. Of course, if someone tried to take the teenager's suitcase, they'd probably find his foot in their face.

"Alex Rider?" The cool, male voice spoke softly, from directly behind him.

Hackles rising, Alex slowly turned. A man in his mid-thirties stood there, dressed in loose black jeans, and a stylish trench coat. Dark hair cropped short, and dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, the man gave off an eerie, intimidating presence.

"Who're you?" Alex warily asked, on guard.

The man smiled, showing flawless teeth. "I am your partner."

"Partner?" Alex frowned. "You're the - ?"

"Doesn't really matter," the man interrupted smoothly, smile still in place. "Now come. Let's get out of here." He turned, and seemed to glide over the floor as he easily slipped into the milling crowds. Alex nearly lost him; as it was, he had push himself just to keep up.

"Oh," the man called over the noise of the airport. "I'd nearly forgotten. You can call me Scare."

Alex brushed past a young couple, ignoring their dirty looks. He drew up beside the man. "Scare?" he asked, dubiously. "That's not a name."

The man flashed those white teeth in a predatory kind of way. "It's what I do best," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low tone that sent shivers down Alex's spine. Even as it were, Alex could barely tell whether the man was being serious, or joking.

Alex suddenly became aware of the oddest thing. Scare did not have any trouble navigating the rush of people. In fact, around him, there was no rush of people. Every nearby person that he approached instinctively stepped aside to create a path for him. And they weren't even realizing that they were doing so. It was some kind of subconscious thing, like the way smaller animals went into hiding when they sensed predators about.

Alex could feel it, too. He felt nervous and uneasy, and wanted to put some distance between himself and this mysterious 'partner.' It was then that he decided that Scare was a very dangerous man.

ARAR

"I see." Algonthin murmured into the mouthpiece of the phone. "Thank you." And with a blink, he severed the connection. Leaning back in the leather chair, he surveyed his office. It formally had belonged to the late Mrs. Jones, and even though it had been cleaned out, someone had forgotten to remove the bowl of peppermints from the top of the desk.

Algonthin eyed them with faint disdain. Sweets, he thought, were utterly disgusting.

There came a faint knock on the door, and none other than Jack Starbright entered. No doubt to question the status of the boy. He blinked at her, making a smooth gesture to a chair in front of the desk. She sat obediently.

"You are inquiring about Alex?" He asked, even though he knew the answer. It was all just formalities, anyway.

"Yes," she answered. She looked exhausted, with those dark rings beneath her eyes. And her hair was a bit stringy – she probably hadn't showered in a few days, as well. "Have they found him?"

"I suppose so," Algonthin said. He was glad he had no remaining family members or friends alive. He would loathe having to be in such a miserable state as the woman in front of him. "Although, he got away from them."

"When was this?" Jack exclaimed. "Is he all right?"

"Fine, fine. It was at the airport, but I wouldn't fret so much over it." Algonthin eyed the bowl of peppermints on his desk. Just the sight of them were making him sick. He really should have them removed. He frowned ever so slightly. Of course, the expression never showed up on his face. It remained as blank as ever.

He pushed the bowl towards Jack. "Peppermint?"

She seemed a little surprised, but nodded a bit hesitantly. "Thanks." She took one, and unwrapped it. Algonthin watched as she slipped it into her mouth. Well now, he was making good progress. There was one less of the miserable candies.

"The whole situation is under control, Miss Starbright," he told her. "The boy will be back in England in a few days."

"Really?" She didn't seem to believe him. Her doubt almost hurt him. Almost. "How can you be so certain? Those men – the, uh....C- Unit? They didn't seem - "

"K-Unit," he corrected, a bit sharply. He hated such errors. They annoyed him. Especially spelling errors and messy handwriting. "Yes, they will find him. And I've got another few people in it as well. I wouldn't worry, if I were you."

"Other people? Who?" She stared at him, her eyes tired. But fierce. He liked that. Weak people were another thing that bothered him.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that. But rest assured. He will be found." He folded his fingers, and smiled kindly. Of course, the smile never showed on his face. "Perhaps you should get some rest, Miss. Starbright. You look quite tired."

"Ah...thank you. I will. I just wanted to see if anything happened."

"As soon as anything does, you will be the first one to know." First civilian, that is. Alan Blunt would be the first, in all reality. But she didn't need to know that. One had to tread carefully with the civilians.

He watched as she got up from her chair, and left the room. As soon as she was gone, his smile faded. Exhausting. He'd never had to deal with this much hogwash before he became the deputy head. Really. It was all exasperating.

And that bowl – he had to get rid of it. Immediately.


	13. Twelve: Plans

_**Yay, I updates again! XD This chapter mutated into something different, but that's ok! It's fun to be surprised by your own story! I hope you enjoy it, too! As a quick side note, I've been contemplating writing another AR fanfic after this one. So if anyone has any ideas (preferably the more serious, darker themes similar to this story) please feel free to drop them in a review. Thanks, dear readers!

* * *

**_

_**TWELVE**_

The hotel room was small; one room with two beds, plus a bathroom. Scare was currently in the bathroom, while Alex was left standing in the middle of the main room. He dropped his suitcase onto his bed; Scare had already thrown a black duffle bag on the other.

Alex flopped back on his bed, sighing as he allowed himself to relax. The short journey from the airport to this hotel had been somewhat tense, as neither he nor Scare had uttered another word to each other. But now that Scare was in the bathroom. . .

Sitting up, Alex eyed the black duffle bag on the other bed. It looked full and heavy. He wondered what was inside it. He glanced back at the bathroom. The door was still closed, and he could hear running water. The man would be in there for a little while, at least.

Alex got up, and walked over to the other bed. He reached out a hand, his fingers lightly brushing against the zipper. He hesitated. All he had to do was open it up, and maybe he'd find some clues about who Mr. Scare really was.

"What do you think you're doing?" A low voice breathed directly into his ear. Alex stiffened, his heart suddenly having convulsions inside his throat. _Wha-? What?! _He swallowed, and slowly turned. Scare was there, only a foot away, his face completely expressionless.

How had the man got there? Alex hadn't even been aware of the man's approach, much less him leaving the bathroom! Flinching, Alex forced himself to meet the man's blank gaze.

"I don't go through your things," Scare calmly said. "So why are you poking your nose into mine?"

The old Alex might have tried to deny it. The old Alex might have made some excuse to try and cover his butt. But this Alex...

"Are you done with the bathroom?" Alex quietly asked. Without waiting for an answer, he walked around Scare, and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door, and slid down to the floor. Dropping his head, he let out a shaky breath.

That. . .had been dangerous.

After a few moments, he got up, and went to the sink. Turning on the tap, he splashed cold water onto his face, letting it drip down. He ran wet fingers through his hair, then looked up into the mirror.

He saw a teen-aged boy with dirty blond hair and brown eyes that seemed to stare right through him. Alex shuddered, and grabbed a towel.

A minute later, he walked out of the bathroom, shaky, yet composed. Scare was standing by the window, holding the curtain aside with one hand while he peered outside. The man turned as Alex drew near.

"I ordered pizza," he told Alex. "Pepperoni."

Alex dropped onto his bed, and rolled onto his back. "Fine."

Scare watched him from behind those dark shades. Alex pretended not to notice, yet he was painfully aware of that gaze. He tried to guess what color the man's eyes were. Would they be blue? Brown or green? Or maybe they would be black. It'd be fitting, if they were. Scare seemed like a black kind of guy.

"You're a lot like your father," Scare suddenly said. That statement took Alex off guard.

"What?" He turned his head to stare at the man. Had he heard him right? If he had, then that would mean Scare knew something about John Rider. Perhaps he had even known the man himself.

"You heard."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "Did you know him?" He knew he was taking the bait, but he couldn't help himself.

Scare gave a slow smile that seemed to radiate an eerie slyness. "I suppose you could say that."

"Are you going to tell me about him?" Alex didn't really feel like asking the man, but he got the sense that Scare wouldn't say anything unless prodded.

"Do you want me to?" That smile was becoming annoying.

"Only if it won't strain yourself," Alex muttered, irritated.

Scare laughed, clearly amused. "Tell you what, kid. If you're still alive at the end of this mission, I'll tell you all I know about your father."

"Why not now?"

"Because I don't feel like it." Scare shrugged. Before Alex could raise a protest, the man held up a hand. "Ah, pizza's here!"

Sure enough, a mere few seconds later, there came a knock on the door. Alex scowled. What absurdly perfect timing.

ARAR

When K-Unit disembarked from their lovely plane, they were greeted by a young woman. She looked like she was barely out of college. Slender, and small, she waited for them to reach her, a small smile on her delicate features.

"Hi, guys! My name is Lucille, and Mr. Algonthin told me to meet you." She beamed up at them.

Wolf frowned, and stepped forward. He wasn't the tallest guy around, but he seemed to tower over her. "You know where Alex is?"

"Right to the point, huh?" Lucille let out a giggle. "Daddy told me you were a mean kind of person., Mr. Wolf."

Wolf stared at her.

Eagle snickered. "Mr. Wolf?"

"M'hmm," Lucille rocked back on her heels, while clutching an envelope to her chest with both arms. "I'm s'posed to call older men Mister, 'cause it's polite. That's what my Daddy says."

"Your Daddy," Fox repeated curiously. "Who's he?"

The girl shook her head, long brown hair swirling around her face as she did so. "Nope. Can't tell you. It's a secret." She placed a finger on her lips to emphasize the point.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Wolf growled. "Or is your purpose to just waste my air and time?"

"Wolf!" Eagle exclaimed. "Would it kill you to be nice?"

Wolf grumbled something under his breath.

"It's all right," Lucille said. "My grandfather is the same way – he's cranky even if he has his coffee in the morning – so I'm used to it. I think all old men are like that, anyway." Both Fox and Eagle made a strange sound, which resulted in Wolf looking even more surly.

"Anyway, I'm here to give you guys some information. I came since Daddy was too busy," the girl went on cheerily. She held out her envelope to Snake, who had been watching her silently the whole time. He reached out, and grasped it carefully, his eyes never leaving her face. "It contains details about Rider's location," she told them, suddenly becoming all professional. "It also has some orders from Mr. Algonthin. He suggests that you go to your hotel first, then continue on tomorrow."

"But it's only midday," Fox pointed out. "We can still -"

"You need to read that," she pointed at the envelope in Snake's hands, "before you can continue on. Mr. Algonthin's orders."

"Um," Snake decided to speak. "So. . .how do you know Algonthin, anyway?"

Lucille smiled, and repeated her finger-on-lips gesture. "A secret, Mr. Snake."

Snake smiled slowly, his eyes becoming slightly glazed. "Ah. . .I see. . ."

"Where's this hotel, then?" Fox asked, casting a glance at Snake. That was kind of. . .odd.

"Oh!" She beamed brightly. "I'm s'posed to take you to it! Do you want to go now?" She pointed to a big, black limousine parked at the edge of the runway.

Wolf scowled. "Yes. Let's go. Now." He was the first to start walking towards the vehicle.

Moments later, after ensuring that the K-Unit had seated themselves inside, Lucille shut the door behind them. Then she skipped over to the driver's side, and slid into the driver's seat. She looked up at the rear-view mirror, and saw the four soldiers staring at her through the plastic window that separated her from them. Their expressions ranged from disbelief, surprise, curiosity, and horror.

She blinked, then opened the divisional window a bit. Sticking her head through the opening, she smiled warmly. "It's all right. Daddy told me I was to be your chauffeur for today. He said it would be okay, since I'm good driver. I haven't been in any accidents yet, and I've only had my license for four weeks."

Pulling her head back, she carefully closed the window. Then she put on her seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition, and revved the engine. Before she pulled out, she glanced in the rear-view mirror once again. The four men were perfectly still and silent. Their face seemed slightly slack, but calm. Their eyes were wide, but she figured that was just because they appreciated her willingness to help out, even though she had little driving experience. Lucille was happy that they had such faith in her.

After all, she had promised her Daddy that she would deliver them to their hotel safe and sound, and without any delay. With a cheery grin on her small face, she switched gears, and roared down the runway.

ARAR

The room was dark. Dark enough that none of the inhabitants could be clearly seen, but light enough so that one could count at least five figures seated around a table.

"You are certain," a male's voice slowly spoke, "that it will fail?"

"Of course," a woman's voice quickly answered, her tone a bit too hurried. "It was doomed to fail from the start. And besides, we've hired someone that will ensure the plan's failure."

"Who?" A different male voice inquired. His voice was deep and smooth, rolling over the words like velvet.

"He calls himself Scare, I believe," the woman answered. "He's quite well-known underground. . ."

"Ah, I've heard of him," the first man said. "He's a fairly decent mercenary that hires himself out, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, well. I've offered him quite the sum, and he's quite reliable. He will get the job done, without fail." The woman seemed to lose some of its confidence. "It's a pity, though. About the boy. . ."

"Yess," a third male voice hissed. "Though it cannot be helped. He was a risk, anyway."

There a few grunts of agreement. The woman held her tongue, though. She didn't dare voice any more, lest they thought she was opposing the plan. She was only one of their lackeys, anyway. One of their more reliable lackeys, however. She swallowed, and tightly clasped her hands together. A lackey for only a short while longer, she thought.

Before these so-called superior men would know it, she would be among their ranks as an equal. And they would have no choice but to acknowledge her.


	14. Thirteen: Death

_**Whoo! All right, just a couple of things. I have no idea about the procedure for presidential speeches, so let's pretend that this is how they go. Also, as for Scare to be able to remain unnoticed by all the security....the security messed up. All for the sake of this story. Kk? XD **_

_**This chapter is a little shorter, but it has to end this way. And just know that this story is only roughly half done. Or three quarters done. Something like that. **_

_**So read on!!

* * *

  
**_

_**THIRTEEN**_

_A man stood in front of me – a white, human-shaped figure against a background of darkness. He had no face; he was merely a white outline. But I still knew who he was._

_My father._

_He was looking at me with eyes that weren't there. And I was afraid._

_I do not know why, but I was afraid to face him. I tried to get away, but the darkness refused to let me move. And so I stayed, watching the strange figure that was somehow my father._

_He cocked his head, and I got the impression that he was wearing a sad smile. He had no face, and yet I know he was wearing that sorrowful curve on his lips._

_Why? _

_Why was he sad?_

_ARAR_

"What the _hell _is this?!" Wolf stared at the papers, not believing what his eyes read. "This is - !"

"What is it?" Fox leaned in, slightly alarmed by their leader's reaction. As soon as they had got into their hotel, Wolf had grabbed the file, and started reading. He had flipped through papers, and read in silence for a solid four minutes.

Then he exploded.

"_What _are those idiots thinking? Doing this all of a sudden?!" He threw the papers aside, and growled something under his breath.

Fox was the first to pick up the papers. As he scanned it, his eyes widened. "Are they serious?"

Eagle bounced on the bed anxiously. "Hey, hey, what's going on?" He looked from Wolf to Fox, and then at Snake, who was waiting calmly.

"Plans have changed," Wolf growled. His large hands formed into solid fists, then flattened out on his knees. "_Without _contacting us first."

"Here." Fox tossed the file over to Eagle, who hurriedly snatched them up. Fox met Wolf's gaze somberly. "Why didn't they tell us this before?"

"Probably because we'd object to it," Wolf growled out. He was obviously not happy. "Even though we hardly know the kid, there's no way I'm going to agree to something like this. No way in - !"

"Wolf," Snake cut in mildly. He was sitting on the bed beside Eagle, and was scanning the contents of the file over Eagle's shoulder. "Seems like we have no choice...especially you and Fox."

Fox sighed. "I'll do my part, but I won't like it. What about you, Wolf?" He looked over at the stocky man. "It's either we do it, or we let some MI6 dolts do it."

Wolf abruptly rose from his chair, and stalked over to the door. "I'm going out," he muttered, and left the room.

"He'll do it," Snake said quietly.

"Mmm." Fox rubbed his forehead. It looked like he was going to get a position in MI6 sooner than he anticipated.

ARAR

Alex opened his eyes, and knew instantly, that today was the day. He lay there for a moment, and wondered why he didn't feel scared or nervous. A great man was going to die very soon, and he couldn't seem to care.

_Empty. . .I'm empty already._ Alex blinked slowly. He stared up at the ceiling, and became aware of Scare moving about nearby. Turning his head, he saw that the man was cleaning out the long barrel of a disassembled sniper rifle.

"Ho?" The man looked up, and met Alex's gaze. "You're awake."

Alex just looked at him blankly. Scare was the one who would fire and purposefully miss the President, making it look like an attempt on the President's life. Alex wondered if the sniper had killed a lot of people.

"So," Scare spoke suddenly, "Are you ready to die?"

It took Alex a moment to register what the man had said. "What?"

Scare smiled slowly, slyly. "I'm just curious. What happens of things go wrong, and you die? Are you ready for it?"

Alex turned his head to stare at the ceiling. "It won't go wrong," he muttered, not very certain in his own words. But then he thought it over. _Death. . .it'd almost be a relief from this nightmare. . . _

The sniper set his cloth and barrel down, and stood. "Get ready. We're moving out within the hour."

Wordlessly, Alex sat up. It wouldn't do any good to think about it. It would be better if he just didn't think at all. He got up and went into the bathroom, and took a ice-cold shower.

He didn't even flinch. He just closed his eyes, and let the cool water numb him.

ARAR

At 1:30 pm, a group of students pushed to the front of the large crowd that was gathering outside the speech area. A single boy, dressed in the same uniform as the others, seemingly came out of nowhere, and joined the group of students. He mingled with them, and made sure he was at the front of the group.

1:40 pm. Four young men, dressed casually, arrived at the area, and stood at the far edge of the milling chaotic mess of people. They spread out, and searched faces with their gazes. Carefully, though, because they didn't want to draw the attention of the Secret Service. Those men stood everywhere in their dark clothing, earpieces, and weapons.

1:58 pm. A dark figure set himself up in a distant window several streets away. He was very careful, making sure that he wore no reflective surfaces. Even the metal barrel of his rifle had been rubbed with a dull, greasy substance to cover the gleaming metal. He propped himself up in the window, and waited.

2:10 pm A black limousine, surrounded by black sedans, pulled up to the scene. The President of the United States stepped out, and was greeted by cheers and screams from the crowds. The Secret Service was kept busy containing the crow, and constantly scanning everything for any possible threats.

2:12 pm Surrounded by his personal guard, the President stepped up to the podium, and smiled at the crowd. The students squealed in excitement, and tried to get even closer. Of course, the ever stern SS (Secret Service) made sure to keep them back. The President smiled at the enthusiastic youths, and took a moment to talk to the SS man who stood beside him like a guard dog.

2:15 pm The President began his speech about the global environment, and how he would do everything in his power to ensure that their great country would work to protect it.

2:20 pm Alex squeezed past a couple of squealing girls, getting himself to the absolutely front. Nearly standing face to face with him was a SS bodyguard, eyeing the students with a wary gaze. Even children did not go without suspicion.

Alex was careful to avoid eye contact, and tried to figure out how he was going to supposedly 'save' the President's life. The podium was about twenty feet away, but between him and it, there were about three SS guards, plus the bullets of a dozen guns. The SS would not hesitate to shoot him, even if he was a child, if he tried to rush the President.

This was impossible. And stupid. Alex risked a glance to the side, and up, where he had a rough guess of where Scare lay in wait. What was he supposed to do? Before, when he thought this whole scenario over, he was sure there was some loophole he could get through. But now, seeing the situation for itself . . .

There was no possible way. He couldn't do it. And so this mission would be a failure, because there was no way he was going to go and commit suicide. He wouldn't do that, would he?

As Alex tried to convince himself of that, it happened. Something slammed into the front of the podium, sending splinters of wood everywhere. A sharp crack split the air, not even a second later.

For a short, short moment, everyone seemed to freeze. Even the President cut himself off in mid-word, and froze. And then the screams began, as everyone in the crowd panicked. They surged away from the platform, while the SS rushed up to surround the President, and create a living shield to protect him.

The students were screaming, and followed the crowd's chaotic movements. Alex, who had been accepting this to happen, remained in place, trying to decide what to do. Should he rush forward, as planned, or should he just go with the crowds?

And then, the students were gone, leaving him in the open. He was caught in the open space between the group of SS, and the fleeing crowd. What should he do? What should he do!? He had to decide, quick, otherwise -

Alex stumbled, his legs suddenly feeling strangely weak. Another sharp crack split the air. More screams. More shouts. More chaotic frenzy.

He fell to one knee, confused. What. . .was going on? What was wrong with his legs? Something felt wet on his chest. He looked down, and saw bright red blossoming on the front of his white shirt. Red. . .did he spill something on his clothing?

The world started a slow spin around Alex. And he realized. He had just been shot. He lifted his head, and gazed in the general direction of Scare.

"Why?" he whispered. _Why did you shoot me? _ He glanced down....it was so red now. So much red...just like their blood. . . just like the trickle out of all those neat little holes.... Did he have a neat little hole, too?

_No, _he thought slowly, sluggishly. He swayed, the screams and shouts and noise all fading away into shrieking silence. _Too much blood for a little hole. . .too much. . ._

Darkness closed in on his vision, gradually blotting out the edges, slowly consuming everything. The blurry world tilted, and he found himself staring up at the white clouds floating. . . .floating in the. . .sky. . .

_Floating. . . . _

Darkness swallowed him whole, and he slowly floated into its oblivion.

And Alex Rider died.


	15. Fourteen: Interlude

**_It's an interlude of sorts, so it's a bit shorter than normal. Sorry for taking so long. :( _**

_**Feel free to throw dead trees at me. . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

_FOURTEEN_

A phone suddenly burst into life, shattering the silence of the dark room with its ring. Its shriek was a brief one, as it was picked up almost immediately. The woman held the phone to her ear, and did not say a word.

"It is done." A male's voice spoke on the other side of the line, and abruptly hung up with a resounding click. The woman, after hearing those three words, also hung up. Then she proceeded to pick up a second phone, whose cradle sat next to the first.

She dialed a number straight from memory, and waited while it rang. It was picked up after the second ring.

"_Yes?"_

In response, the woman repeated the three words she had just received. "It is done."

"_Good. Then all loose ends are properly looked after?"_

"Yes. The boy is dead. And there is no one else who is close enough to stop us before it is done."

"_Very well. Make sure you pay your mercenary well." _And the Scorpia member closed the connection.

Julia Rothman let out a faint sigh as she replaced the phone in its cradle. She really did feel a small amount of regret for killing the boy. It was pity, especially since he was an extraordinary kind of person, taking after his father in almost every way. . .

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She'd get over it. The death of a child wasn't worth all that much in the bigger scheme of things, after all.

But back to business. Julia flicked on the computer screen that sat on top of her desk. She would make sure the mercenary got double his promised amount. Scare had earned it, being such the reliable killer that he was.

ararara

It was somewhat disgusting. The four men standing behind the barricade of police and Secret Service agents all shared the same thought. At the first sign of danger, everyone runs away. And now that it was all over, they all come back to stare in some kind of awe at the damage.

K-Unit, as a whole, was very annoyed. And very angry. They could understand MI6's way of thinking, but had this really been _necessary_?

They watched as two medics jumped into the back of the ambulance after the stretcher. They watched as the ambulance doors were closed, and the vehicle took off, lights blazing, and siren wailing. And they watched as a single, dark figure stepped around a tall building quite a distance away. His form was barely noticeable, as his dark clothing seemed to blend with the dark gray brick pattern of the building.

However, K-Unit saw him.

They saw the man lift a hand in acknowledgment. Wolf lifted his own hand in response, and watched grimly as Scare stepped back around the building, and disappeared.

ararara

"_It's done_," the male voice said for the second time that day. "_Alex Rider is dead_."

"Good, thank you," Algonthin blinked. He cast a quick glance to Alan Blunt, who was sitting in the chair across the desk. "Any problems?"

"_None at all. It went as planned."_

"Excellent. I will talk to you later, Scare." Algonthin hung up, his long, thin fingers seeming to hesitate before drawing back. He turned a little in his chair so that he could meet Alan Blunt's gaze straight on.

"So Alex is dead, hm?" The Head of MI6 murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He folded his hands together in his lap, and focused on the Deputy Head. "Might as well call her in, Algonthin."

In response, Algonthin tapped a button on the phone. Leaning in slightly, he said, "Send Miss Starbright in, please."

Moments later, the door opened slowly, and Jack Starbright stepped through. She took a moment to close the door softly, then quietly sat down in the one empty chair. Both men took a moment to take her in.

Her clothes were neat, her hair combed, and her face washed. It looked like she was completely composed, which, both men noted with some surprise, was a major change from before. She looked up at them, with tired, hopeful eyes. "Have you found him?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Blunt answered immediately. "Yes, we've found him."

"You. . ." She went still for a moment. Then it was like she became a totally different person. Her eyes lit up, and she came alive. "You found him?! Where is he? Is he all right?"

Both members of MI6 seemed to flinch at the outburst of questions. Blunt rubbed his temples, and wished that he had a peppermint. Its too-sweet taste seemed to have a bit of a calming effect on him.

"Algonthin?" Blunt looked over to the tall, thin man.

Algonthin blinked. _Leave it to me, will he? _He thought to himself with some irritation. _He knows very well how much I dislike this type of thing. _With an inward sigh, he noticed that gaze of hers, so hopeful and worried. Well, might as well get it over with.

"Miss Starbright."

"Yes?" She leaned forward.

"Alex Rider is dead."

"Huh?" She froze, her eyes growing impossibly wide. "Wh-what did you say?" Her voice was nothing more than a shocked whisper.

"You heard me," Algonthin replied calmly. "And due to the circumstances, I'm afraid that you, Jack Starbright, will have to die as well."

She could only stare.

* * *

**_Heheh. . .anybody have an idea of what's going on? ;)_**

**_Also...the school that Alex went to originally. . .does anybody know its name? Also, was K-Unit's real names ever mentioned? Besides Fox's?  
_**


	16. Fifteen: Reality

_**O.O.....Wow. You guys gave me a bunch of reviews in such a short time...! It made me want to write some more, so here's the next chapter. XD**_

_**As for what the heck's going on, the next chapter will kindly explain that, so I'll hurry up and write that one.**_

_**Thanks again for all of your reviews, and help, especially to DreamOfStories.**_

_**EDIT: Fixed the Error :)  
**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

_FIFTEEN_

He laid in hospital-type bed, all alone in the center of an empty room. Empty, save for the machine that monitored his heart rate and blood pressure, and the IV stand that dripped fluids into his arm. It was silent, too, save for the steady beep of the machine.

His eyes moved beneath his lids as he dreamed. It was a dream of something ugly, a dream that was more like a nightmare.

There was a one-way window on one wall; through it, no less than four pairs of eyes watched him. They'd been there for hours, yet none of them felt the need to move. The boy in the hospital bed had caught their interest in such a way that none of them were willing to step away.

What were they going to do with him? They had wondered. Was it even worth the effort? They hadn't known how far gone the boy was. Yet, in each of them, some more than others, there was something that urged them to try.

So they watched the sleeping boy in the hospital bed. They gazed as his white, tired face, and his messy blond hair, and they waited.

ararara

The boy came awake slowly. It was slow drift from the world in his dreams to the world of reality, and when he first opened his eyes, he was unsure if he was still in a dream. The white room was cold and quiet, and he felt very alone.

A dull pain throbbed in his chest. He tried to lift a hand to see what caused it, but soon realized that the only movement he could make was a mere twitch of the fingers. This, he inwardly decided, could only be a part of his nightmarish dreams. The real world was surely not like this. But with that thought, came the suspicion that he must have been dreaming for a long, long time.

A door opened. Three people walked in, and the boy's eyes widened a bit when he recognized one of them. That man, he knew well. He hated that man, yet had obeyed him more than once. That man had led him into so many dangerous situations, and had stolen away his childhood.

The boy opened his mouth, and whispered hoarsely. "Alan. . .Blunt..."

Alan Blunt didn't smile. He frowned, and pulled up a chair to sit near the foot of the bed. The tall, thin man did the same. The third man, dressed in the white coat of a doctor or lab tech, rolled in a small table, which held a thick file, and a small bowl of peppermints.

The boy watched these proceedings with a tired curiosity. He wondered what was going on, but his fogged mind was too weary to try and figure it out. He waited, sure that one of them would tell him what they were doing.

"Good afternoon," Alan Blunt said, once everything was organized. He leaned over, and plucked a peppermint from the a bowl. The boy watched as the Head of MI6 unwrapped the candy, and popped it into his mouth. That action was strangely familiar...and brought a deep ache to his gut. He couldn't figure out why.

Blunt moved the candy to one side of his mouth so that he could talk. It made a bulge in one cheek, and the boy couldn't help but stare at it. However, Blunt's next words grabbed the boy's attention, fast. "We should have done this right from the start; it would've prevented this whole mess. However, we will tell you now – the truth about your father."

_The truth about my father?_ The boy felt like he'd been blindsided by a truck. The truth? His father? Wasn't his father a Scorpia agent? What did Blunt mean, the truth?

"Algonthin," Blunt made a gesture towards the tall and thin man sitting next to him. "If you would."

Algonthin took a moment to stare at the boy. His facial expression was . . .nonexistent. Yet those eyes in the mask-like face were very alert and intense. He blinked, then picked up the folder laying on the table. Pulling out a black and white photo, he held it up so the boy could see.

"This is your father, age twenty-six," he said softly. The boy stared at the photo. The man in the picture was wearing some kind of military uniform, and had a watchful, alert gaze that seemed to stare straight at him.

Algonthin put the photo down. "He was part of the Parachute Regiment at Aldershot, which happens to be the toughest Regiment in the British army. Quite an achievement, as it was second only to the SAS. Anyway, your father spent three years with them. He saw quite a lot of action, and received a medal for carrying a wounded soldier to safety while under heavy fire."

The boy listened intently, taking in every word. He gained a picture in his mind of the man in the photo running through a forest, a unconscious soldier slung over a shoulder, while bullets thudded into tree trunks and kicked up dirt all around them. It was a . . .heroic picture.

"He returned to England," Algonthin went on, "and got married to your mother. She was studying medicine, and later became a radiologist. However, shortly after their marriage, things started to go wrong." The Deputy Head paused, and glanced at the file. Then he went on, his intent gaze never leaving the boy.

"A few weeks after the wedding, your father got involved in a fight at a pub. He ended up killing a man, quite by accident. He received a dishonorable discharge, and was sent to prison. After a year, he was quietly released. However, this was what Scorpia told you, right? It was all just a cover. The fight in the pub, the prison sentence – that was just a false story to lure in Scorpia."

"A. . .cover?" the boy asked, somewhat surprised.

Algonthin blinked. "Yes. Your father worked for us. He joined Scorpia as our spy; he was our eyes and ears, so to speak. He was a brilliant agent, and he provided us with valuable information that saved many lives."

"But...Mrs. Rothman said he killed people!" The boy exclaimed hoarsely. "She said he was an assassin!"

"He was pretending to be a dangerous killer," Algonthin calmly said. "So of course, he had to kill. However, his victims were all criminals, and those few that weren't – we faked their deaths. As for Albert Bridge – where MI6 supposedly killed your father – that was fake as well. Scorpia thought MI6 killed him in cold blood, but it was all an act."

The boy was white as a ghost. "He. . .didn't die. . .?"

"No." Algonthin's words were soft, but iron firm. "MI6 did not kill your father. Mrs. Jones had nothing to do with his death. Rather, she was responsible for saving his life."

"I. . ." The boy could not form a word.

"Scorpia is a powerful organization," Algonthin plowed on. "They somehow found out that your father was still alive, and arranged a bomb to go off in a plane that they were traveling in. That was how your father really died. Scorpia killed him."

Algonthin fell silent. The room became silent.

And the boy trembled. _A lie. . .it has to be a lie. _But why would they lie to him? There was no reason to. . .was there? Could this just be an elaborate set up just to draw him away from Scorpia? _It couldn't. . ._

He didn't _want _it to be, he realized. He didn't want to be stuck with Scorpia any -

_Scorpia killed him._

The boy froze.

_Tulip Jones had nothing to do with his death. Rather, she was responsible for saving his life._

He suddenly saw her in mind's eye, standing before him. He saw himself too, holding the gun, aiming. The gun spat out a bullet, and he could only watch as she died. By his hand.

"No," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He want to grab his head and force out that horrible image, but he was too weak to even lift a hand. His body shuddered as his cruel mind replayed the memory again, pounding in the fact that. . .

Mrs. Jones had been innocent of his father's death.

He had killed an innocent woman. . .someone who didn't deserve to die. He'd killed her in cold blood.

"Noo," he moaned, struggling. He didn't want to see this! He didn't want to remember this! Just go away! All of it, just go away! But he couldn't escape. "I – I _killed _her!" He cried out. "And she – she. . ."

He shuddered, his face contorting into an expression of horror. "I killed her. . ." he whispered. "I _murdered _her. . ."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he tried to tell himself that this was a lie. That it wasn't real. That it was a dream, a part of his never-ending nightmare. But he knew the truth. It _was _real.

And his father. . .he'd become someone so very different from his father. His father was not a murderer of innocents. He turned his face away, and shook with silent sobs.

The boy broke.

ararara

_For a long time, I float. I wrap myself in darkness, in silence, in nothingness, and I float alone. But then the whispers start drifting in._

"_You can start over," they say. _

"_Forget the past and move on. Start a new life."_

_Start over. Forget. _

_How can I forget? _How _can I possibly _forget_?!_

_I am a **murderer. **_

_A **killer.**_

_And my father . . . I don't want to think about how I have failed him._

_There is nothing left for me but hell. _

_Nothing, really, but death._

_If only I knew how ironic that thought was. _


	17. Sixteen: Beginnings

_**Sorry, no excuse this time for taking so long. I just got lazy...:( If I ever take this long again, please feel free to send me a message involving a good, solid kick. **_

_**Anyways, thanks to everyone who pointed out that little error in the last chapter. And please let me know if there's something that needs fixing in this chapter. **_

_**Enjoy!

* * *

  
**_

_SIXTEEN_

The alarm clock sat on the dresser, ticking faintly as it counted the time. Its large, luminescent green numbers read 6:59. Right beside the dresser, a figure lay motionless in bed, sprawled on top of the sheets, and tangled with the blankets. The figure was a teen aged boy, who was sleeping deeply, dreamlessly.

The clock chose that moment to switch over to 7:00. The moment the numbers changed, the clock erupted into a high-pitched beeping that was guaranteed to wake even the deepest slumberer. It certainly did its job; the boy in the bed jerked awake, eyes snapping open as he immediately came alert. He instinctively tried to jump out of bed and land in a ready crouch, but with his legs tangled as they were with blankets, he only ended up falling onto the floor with a heavy thud.

As the alarm continued with its annoying beeping, the boy lay still, trying to calm his racing heart. After a long while, he shoved the blanket away, and got to his feet. He leaned across the bed, and shut off the alarm.

He yawned widely, stretching out his arms above his head. Lowering his arms, he padded out of his small bedroom, and into the bathroom across the hallway. After closing and locking the door, he turned to face the mirror.

A stranger stared at him. The boy had, over the past few days, seen this face gazing back at him whenever he glanced into reflective surfaces, but it would be a long time until he would become used to it.

The face in question was young, crowned with a wild, spiky mess of black hair. The deep brown eyes that were gazing out of the face seemed intensely alert, with a hint of dark wildness hidden deep within their depths. They were eyes that didn't belong on the face of a teen aged boy. They belonged on the face of a killer.

The boy sighed to himself. His eyes had changed so much in such a short time, he barely was able to recognize them as his own. And not just his eyes. He himself had changed.

Pushing those weary thoughts away, he turned on the shower. As he waited for the water to warm, he slowly stripped off his pajamas. The clothing fell silently to the floor, creating a small heap. He reached out a hand, and let the water run through his fingers. It was hot, almost scalding.

He stepped into the shower, and almost flinched away at the heat. Closing his eyes, he let the water cascade down his body, and fill the air with hot steam. Old scars and injuries twinged as the hot water slid over them. He knew without looking where each scar was situated, and could tell a long story for each as how he had gotten them. But he didn't like to think about them; they were mementos of a dangerous, frightening past. A past that wasn't his.

Someone banged on the bathroom door, and a woman's voice called out. "Ian, get out of there! You're going to be late for school!"

A second sigh escaped his lips. But he grabbed the bottle of shampoo. "All right," he called out. "Just give me a minute!"

Several minutes later, the boy emerged from his bedroom, completely dressed and leaving a wet towel sprawled on his unmade bed. He padded softly down the hall, his eyes inadvertently flicking to the closed doors and the shadows in the corners where the light didn't reach.

Then he came to the kitchen, where he was greeted by a young woman who was only a few years older than himself. She turned, brushing long blond hair over one shoulder, and smiled widely. "Breakfast's on the table, Ian dear."

He bit back a faint scowl as he sat himself down. "Don't call me dear, Jacqueline. I'm not your son."

"Hey, take it easy, kid," a man spoke as he entered the kitchen. He cast a small frown at Ian, then smiled gently at the blond woman. "Jackie cares about you – you know that."

"Huh," Ian merely grunted, and dug into the plate of food that had been placed at his spot. "It's just weird. Who ever heard of newlyweds fostering a kid that's only ten years younger than them? What're the people at school gonna think, Ben?"

The man, Ben, grinned. "Just eat your breakfast, Ian. You don't want to be late for your first day."

Mumbling under his breath, the teen did as he was told. His name was Ian Daniels, and he was almost fifteen years old. His foster family, Jacqueline and Ben Daniels had just moved to the area, right after taking him in. While they were newlyweds, and fairly young – in their twenties – they had readily accepted him into their life.

And while he'd never admit it, Ian was very grateful. He had a troubled past, and didn't know what he'd do on his own.

He set his fork down, and stood up. "I'm going."

"Wait, Aaa – Ian!" Jacqueline called out. "Take your pills!"

"I have them," he told her. "And it's not like I need them anymore – it's practically healed already."

She opened her mouth to berate him, but as she looked at his face, at his brown eyes that were both alert and weary at the same time, she hesitated. He'd been through so much, with that recent 'accident' and all. He could take care of himself. She smiled at him.

"Take care, Ian."

The teen raised a hand in response as he left. After hearing the front door slam behind him, Jacqueline slumped wearily. She rubbed her temples, as if trying to soothe a headache away.

"I don't know if I can get used to this," she muttered.

"Yeah, it's pretty strange, isn't it?" Ben sat down at the table, using the chair that Ian had just vacated.

"Especially this hair," she scowled at the long blond hair that had been slung over a shoulder. "It's ugly, too long, and annoying! Why couldn't I just cut it and be done with it?"

"You know why," Ben softly said. He was dressed in a suit and tie, like a proper businessman. But his watchful gaze that took in his surroundings seemed a little too alert for a businessman. "It's for his safety."

"I know, I know," Jacqueline sighed. She cast an annoyed look at him. "But why did I have to be married to you?"

"Would you rather be married to Joseph?"

"Him? Are you kidding?" She stared at him for a long moment. Then a giggle escaped her. "No, no. I think he does much better as a janitor."

Ben chuckled. "He always wanted to go back to school."

Jacqueline opened the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice. As she poured it into a glass, her amusement faded into concern. "Will he really be all right, going back to school?"

"I hope so," he said, becoming serious. "Joseph's there to look after him, anyway. He'll be fine."

ARAR

Ian pedaled slower, as he neared the school. Brookland. A familiar school. However, it was a school that he, as Ian, had never been to before. Ian was a transfer student from the other side of Britain.

He looked over the school grounds. Hundreds of students were milling about, chatting as they greeted one another, laughing as they joked. Some were familiar faces, and he ignored them as he got off his bike, and walked it to the bike stand.

A transfer student. His first time here. He locked up his bike, and tightened his grip on his bag. This. . .was going to be difficult. He took a shaky breath, and approached the nearest group of people. It was a girl and a guy, talking quietly together. Both were vaguely familiar.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Huh?" Both students looked up at him. The guy, a thin, nerdy type, blinked owlishly. "What do you want?"

"Ah, I'm new here," Ian quietly said. He kept his eyes focused downwards, acting shy. "Would you be able to help me find the office?"

"A transfer student?" The nerdy guy was surprised.

"Yes. I just moved here."

"Neat," the girl smiled. "I'm Wendy. And my friend's name is Stuart."

"I'm Ian Daniels," Ian told them. He was careful not to look them in the eye. He was afraid that if he did, they'd recognize him, despite the fact that he'd changed so much.

"Come on," Stuart said. "I'll take you to the office."

"Thanks."

While Ian was following his new acquaintances into the school, a short, well-built man watched him from a window. This man was wearing the blue overalls associated with his position as janitor, and he held the handle of a broom in one hand.

"So he's here," the janitor muttered to himself. He then turned away from the window, and pushed the broom towards the classroom door. School would start in fifteen minutes, so it was time that he got out of there.

Wolf scowled as he left the classroom. Why the heck was he carrying around a broom? He should be out somewhere on a mission, carrying a gun, not playing janitor.

"Joseph!" A woman's voice called out cheerily. He looked up to see a primly dressed woman, with brunette hair pulled back into a strict bun. "I'm glad I ran into you! The ladies room down the hall needs your attention. One of the stalls are running low on paper – could fix that please?"

He put a smile on his face. "Please, Ms. Amanda. Call me James."

"Why ever would I do that? Your name is Joseph."

"I know," Wolf smiled through gritted teeth. "But I much prefer James."

"Well, just take care of the ladies room, will you?"

"Of course." He kept the smile on his face until she had wisped past him. Then he allowed his customary scowl to return. That teacher, ever since he had started working as a janitor, had never ceased to irritate him. That, and her annoying insistence on calling him Joseph...

Despite his inner complaining, however, he wouldn't have let anyone else take this position. Using the guise as a janitor, he had access to every part of the school, and he would be able to keep his eyes and ears wide open. Because with Scorpia, one never knew.

ARARA

Ian stood at the front of the class, trying not to panic. He could feel the eyes of every single student staring at him, studying him, trying to figure him out. It wasn't that that bothered him, though. It was the fact that Tom was there. Tom, who had been best friends with his past self.

_Relax, _he told himself. _There's no chance. No way. You are a totally different person._

He lifted his gaze, and looked directly at Tom. "My name is Ian Daniels," he told the class. "I just moved here with my foster family this week. I am looking forward to finishing this school year with you."

Tom seemed to pale slightly, and Ian wondered if Tom had figured it out. He hoped not. Because if Tom discovered the truth, MI6 would have to step in, and make sure that he would never talk.

"Thank you, Ian. You may sit down – there's an empty seat in the middle that you can take." The teacher was a thin woman with a wide, friendly smile. She now gave him one of those smiles, and he merely nodded, and went towards the empty desk.

He sat down, and took out the brand new textbooks that he had been given at the office. Settling in, he focused his gaze on the teacher, Mrs. Shubert. Time to pay attention, as he had a lot of stuff to catch up on.

ARARA

Tom couldn't shake the strange feeling he had gotten when he first looked at the transfer student. At first glance, the new boy was a complete stranger. But when their eyes had met, Tom noticed something familiar in those brown eyes. It was almost as if -

Then something had sparked in those eyes. Something wild and frightening, and Tom had suddenly become scared. He had never seen eyes like those in his entire life, but he knew immediately that Ian Daniels was a teenager with many secrets.

It scared him. It intrigued him. And he couldn't shake the feeling that something was familiar about Ian. Tom glanced sideways at the new student. Ian was sitting very still, his eyes alert and wary as he watched the teacher closely. Tom held back a shudder.

There was something. . .off about Ian Daniels.


	18. Seventeen: Suspicions

**Here we go! I'm guestimating that there's about three chapters left to this story. As long as things go to plan. :) I had originally written the last part out, but the chapter would've been too long. So I summarized it. Let me know what you guys think! So enjoy!

* * *

**

SEVENTEEN

The rest of the day was, Ian thought, simply strange and increasingly annoying. Here he was in a familiar environment, surrounded by familiar people, yet it was all so different at the same time. The students kept their distance, casting uneasy glances his way when he thought he wasn't looking. The instructors were the opposite – they kept asking him questions and watched him closely, as if they were worried that he was a bomb that would go off if they left him unattended.

What was with that? Did they treat all transfer students this way? Or was there something different about him in particular? Ian couldn't figure it out.

And Tom. Ian could feel the boy's gaze burning a hole right through him the entire day. It was making him nervous – what if he knew? What if Tom knew the truth? Ian suppressed a chill. Forget about it. Next class was P.E., and he had to figure out to hide his scars. Kids his age weren't supposed to have that many scars, not to mention a still-healing bullet wound.

As it turned out, he didn't have to worry. He changed in the bathroom, and tucked his shirt into his gym shorts so it wouldn't ride up. During the warm-ups and laps, he was careful to take it easy. His injury still hurt when he strained himself, and the last thing he wanted to do was to go to the nurse's office and get a physical examination.

They played dodgeball for the first half. Before he knew it, he was one of three boys still standing in the middle. And Tom was gaping at him. So were the others. There were watching him with a gaze that expressed a minor amount of disbelief.

_What? _He wondered. _What's up with them?_

The ball sailed his way, coming from the left. Without moving his head, his eyes darted in the ball's direction. He quickly calculated its trajectory, and decided that if he didn't move it would still only skim his nose. So he took a small half-step back, and the ball flew by, its breeze brushing his face.

Realization hit him suddenly, and he nearly groaned aloud. What was he thinking? He was a normal teenager in school, not some professional agent on the battlefield! He had been dodging the ball with an ease that made it look like he could tell the future. The instinct to dodge was second nature to him, and he'd been doing it without even thinking. Scowling at himself, he made sure that the next ball to come flying at him, hit him.

For the rest of the P.E. Class, they played soccer, and he made sure that he acted like a normal teen-aged boy. He ran no faster than the others, made just as many mistakes as the others, made as many goals as the others. At the end of the class, he doused his head under the fountain and panted for breath, so that he looked just as exhausted as the others. It wouldn't do to let the rest of the class know that he was only a little winded, and could have gone to another three P.E. classes easily.

The last class of the day was a Science nightmare. He had been away from his studies so long, he had no idea what the Professor was talking about. And of course, the man just had to pick him to answer random questions. By the end of the class, most students had seemed to have forgotten their apprehension of him, and gave him sympathetic looks. A few even talked to him.

"Don't take it too hard," a girl named Mindy told him. "The Professor's like that to all of the new students."

"Thanks," he mumbled in reply. _It's gonna take me years just to catch up._

"Um, no offense, but you look like you can use some help with the project he gave us. If you want - "

"It's all right," he quickly interrupted her. "Thanks, but I've got a tutor. I've actually missed a few weeks of school because of the move and everything, so. . ." he trailed off, and offered a small smile.

"Oh, um. . .it's fine, then. I'll see you later!" Ian watched as the girl ran off. She was kind of pretty, but a bit thin, like she wasn't eating enough. Probably one of those types that dieted frequently.

"Ian, right?"

He spun around, eyes widening in alarm. "T-Tom!"

Tom blinked. Then, "How did you know my name? I don't remember telling you."

Ian mentally cursed. He pasted on a smile to hide his growing panic. "Oh! I heard someone talking to you, and just made a mental note of it. Yeah, since I'm new here, I'd like to try and get to know everyone."

He scratched the back of head, trying to seem nonchalant. _Did he buy it? _Ian kept smiling a nice, friendly smile. Tom merely stared at him. A few moments passed, both frozen in their places.

Ian's cellphone rang. The moment was broken, and he sighed inwardly. "Just a minute," he told Tom, and pulled out his cellphone. "Hello?" He listened for a long while in silence, then said, "All right, Ben. I'll be right over."

Flipping his cell closed, he offered Tom what he hoped was an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but I've got to get home. I'll see you around." _I really hope not. . . _

Without waiting for a response, Ian fled.

ARARAR

They were similar, Tom thought. This new kid, Ian constantly reminded him of Alex. Just little gestures, ways of talking, and that way he hunched his shoulders when embarrassed or flustered. Several times during the day, Tom had glanced at Ian, and was struck by how much he resembled Alex.

No one else seemed to notice it, though. So, what was going on?

Ian was a lot like Alex. That much was clear. But.. . He was so different from Alex. Alex never had been that...intense, that alert. And he certainly wasn't able to dodge balls without even really looking at them.

Tom slid a hand through his hair, and let a frustrated sound. This was so confusing!

It was like a mystery. So many clues, like jagged puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together.

First of all: Alex had been missing for three months. When he tried calling his house, he got a message that the line had been disconnected.. He'd gone over there after a few weeks to try and talk to Jack and see what was going on. The house had been completely empty, with a For Sale sign on the front yard. Everyone he talked to had no idea of what happened to Alex. And no one really talked about him anymore, like they'd forgotten that he'd once existed.

Secondly: Alex went away, and a new transfer student came in his place. A student who, while he looked and appeared different, seemed vaguely similar.

Thirdly: Ian knew his name. Tom didn't buy his little 'I heard someone else talking to you.' Besides Alex, Tom didn't really have many friends, and hardly talked to any of the other students. And, it was very clear that the new transfer student seemed to be avoiding any kind of social contact with others. For one, he sat by himself at lunch and made no attempt to talk to anyone. He just sat there, and watched _everything _with dark, watchful eyes.

Tom really hoped that his suspicions were false. He didn't want this kid to be related to Alex in anyway. Because Ian Daniels, despite his loner, although friendly attitude, was creeping him out.

ARARAR

Ian leaned his bike against the side of the house, and opened the front door. Or tried to. The door was locked. "What the heck?" He walked along the side of the house until he reached the front window. Running his hands under the window sill at the bottom, he felt for the key.

He didn't find it. Instead, taped in its place was a piece of paper. He pulled it off, ripping the paper in half during the process. Grumbling under his breath, Ian held the two halves together, and found a message scrawled on them.

"Just wait. Your uncle will come to pick you up."

"Uncle?" He reread the message to make sure his eyesight wasn't failing him. "I don't _have _an uncle." What was with this day? It was just getting more annoying with every passing minute.

The sound of a well-cared for engine met his ears then, and it was approaching quickly. Ian walked back to the front driveway to get a better look. He was just in time to see a guy on a large motorcycle pull up right in front of him.

The motorcycle was all black and silver steel, and the rider was all black leather and shiny black helmet. Ian watched as the rider came to a stop, and put down booted feet to hold the machine steady.

"Let me guess," Ian said. "You're my uncle."

The rider chuckled, and lifted off his helmet. "I've always wanted to be an uncle, you know."

Ian's face went blank. "You." He'd recognize that face anywhere, even though the eyes were missing a pair of sunglasses. Actually, this was the first time he'd seen the man's eyes, and they were a pale blue. This was a surprise, 'cause he'd always figured the man would have eyes as black as night, to match his sadistic personality.

"Hey, hey," the man exclaimed. "What's with that look? When your long-lost Uncle visits you for the first time, you're supposed to be thrilled."

"Oh, I am thrilled," Ian said flatly. Then he glared at the man. "You shot me."

"So?" Scare shrugged. "You survived, didn't you?"

Ian sighed. "Why are you here?"

"Didn't you read the note? I'm here to pick you up."

"No. I meant, _what_ are doing here?"

Scare reached into a compartment, and pulled out a second helmet. He tossed it to Ian. "Take it easy, kid. I signed a contract with the bank, so I'll be around for a while. Now put that on, and get on the bike."

Ian pulled on the helmet. Unlike Scare's, it only had a visor that shielded the eyes. The rest of the face was left bare. "Why would they hire a guy like you? You like to shoot children."

"Come on," Scare put his own helmet back on, and his voice became muffled. "I don't get what your problem is. You know the whole story."

The teenager didn't respond as he clambered onto the bike behind Scare. He knew the story, all right. It was something he preferred not to think about.

MI6 had actually hired Scare quite a while before Scorpia had, and they basically wanted him to 'kill' Alex Rider. Scorpia wanted the same thing, so it all worked out splendidly. Scare had completed both missions to various degrees, and was now quite a rich man. However, MI6 apparently wasn't done with the mercenary yet, which was something Ian couldn't quite figure out. What else did they wanted the sniper to do? Surely, it was more than simply posing as an uncle.

Scare carefully began to back up onto the road. Ian reluctantly gripped the man's shoulders, not wanting to fall off. It came as a pleasant surprise, as Scare drove on, that he was actually quite a safe driver. Nothing like the madman road-rager that Ian had pictured him to be.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride. It lasted a little over ten minutes as they navigated the rush of traffic. At the end of it, they reached the bank. The familiar, several-story building that Ian was coming to hate with a passion.

Ben Daniels met them inside. He wore a crisp business suit that made him look like one of the bank managers. In truth, he was currently a field agent who, while technically on the field, was actually taking the day job of a desk jockey. While Ian was at school, MI6 happily put him to work filing papers.

"Hey, Ian! Scare," he greeted both of them.

Ian jerked a thumb at Scare. "Is he really my uncle?"

"Yup," Ben affirmed with a bright smile. "He wanted to help keep an eye on you, so we let him in."

"Oh, I see," Ian nodded in understanding. "The guy who shot me wants to be my Uncle. Probably so he get another chance to finish the job. Makes perfect sense."

"Still hasn't got over it," Scare spoke over Ian's head to Ben. "And it's already been a couple of months. Maybe you should get him some professional help."

"Mr. Beryl has already talked to him several times, and there's been some progress," Ben said. "but it'll take a while, I think."

Ian scowled. "Hey! Can we move along to the reason why I'm here?"

ARARA

_I hate today._

_And I hate the CIA. And MI6._

_The purpose of this stupid meeting was to introduce me to the Assistant of the Director of the CIA, and his charming daughter, Jasmine. What was the CIA doing in a meeting room of a bank-which-was-not-a-bank?_

_Why, they'd heard all about the amazing teenaged spy, Alex Rider. And then they'd tried to make their own young agents. After a couple died, they'd decided to come see the real thing. Only problem was, Alex Rider was dead._

_If only MI6 could keep their mouth shut._

_Too make it short, the CIA did MI6 a favour. And in return, they get to meet me. The replacement for Alex Rider. And not just meet. Did I mention Jasmine?_

_She's a snotty eighteen year-old spy wannabe that thinks she knows it all. She's my tutor. Yeah, her. And she gets to follow me around for a couple of months just to see how I work. To see what makes me able to survive what the other teenaged spy wannabes couldn't. _

_The whole thing is stupid. The CIA just wants to get their claws in me. Since they can't have me, they want to create another me. _

_Don't they understand? Alex Rider is _**dead. **_Gone. Those memories, those tormented, haunted memories, those _doings – _those are gone. Gone with the death of Alex Rider._

_He's dead, and here I stand in his place. A battered shell that's barely held together. A mere, empty identity, living a life that is barely there. Fake._

_Ian Daniels._

_That's me._

_And they want to create another me._

_I hate today._


	19. Eighteen: Nightmare

_**Ooo, it's starting to fall apart...XD....**_

_**To all those who were concerned: Jasmine most definitely will not become romantically involved with Alex. Never. Not in any way. She is everything I hate in female characters, and I'm still trying to figure out what she's doing in this story. Besides ruining poor Alex's life. . .**_

_**Any mistakes, please let me know. Otherwise, enjoy!!**_

_**

* * *

**_

EIGHTEEN

Ian locked up his bike, and with his bag slung over a shoulder, walked into the school. He was fairly early, so there weren't that many students in the halls. Just as he passed the boy's bathroom, the janitor stepped out of it, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies right into Ian's path.

"Oh, sorry," the janitor apologized.

"I'm sure you are, _Joseph_," Ian muttered, stepping around the cart. He cast a covert glare at Wolf, who didn't look sorry at all.

"Don't call me that, _Cub,_" Wolf hissed back. He cast a quick glance around to make sure that nobody was watching them, then stepped closer. "I'm supposed to tell you. That Jasmine girl – she doesn't know that you used to be-" Wolf stopped, seeing the expression on Ian's face. A small frown crossed his own face, but he went on. "You're supposed to keep that classified. Don't tell her anything about what happened or what you did, all right?"

Ian backed up, scowling. "_I _didn't do anything!" he exclaimed, while trying to keep his voice low. "That wasn't me!"

Wolf just looked at him, and Ian could read the concern and sympathy there. It irritated him to no end. He didn't do anything, so he didn't need the man's pity! Wolf must've seen it on his face, because he quickly backtracked.

"All right, all right. Take it easy, kid. I just want to make sure you understand that you need to be careful around her. She's CIA, and she'll dig for any information she can get. Just keep it tight, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ian mumbled. "I got it."

"Good." Wolf noticed a few students approaching, and raised his voice. "Now, if you find out anything about who was flushing cigarettes down the toilet, you let me know, you hear?"

"Sure, Joseph. You'll be the first to know." Ian adjusted his bag, and walked away. He could feel Wolf's hard gaze on the back of his head, and he could just imagine that pitying look in the man's eyes. His hands clenched.

Why was Wolf pitying him? He didn't _do_ anything! There was nothing, so why? _Why_ that look?

ARARA

The morning passed by fairly smoothly, although Ian still couldn't make much sense out of what the instructors were talking about. He hoped that Jasmine would be a good tutor, but he wasn't getting his hopes up. It looked like he was doomed to fail this year.

So, everything was going well. Lunch hour came.

And then he screwed up.

He had decided to eat his lunch outside so that he could be by himself. It would become annoying if people wanted to talk to him, and try to find out more about him. Ian found a nice big tree, and sat in its shade, leaning back against its sturdy trunk.

As he ate his lunch, he leaned his head back, and stared up at the leafy mass above him. Silence, save for the flock of birds chirping in the tree's branches. Silence, save for the wind rustling through the leaves. It was nice. Ian relaxed for the first time in a long while, listening to the quiet sounds. Peaceful. . .

"N-noooooo!" A girl's scream shattered that silence into a billion pieces. It came so suddenly that Ian was startled jerking forward, which resulted in a spilled lunch.

Ian sucked in a shaky breath, eyes widening. He'd just realized that his right hand had automatically dropped to his right pocket, feeling around for a -

_- a gun._

_No, no, no. _He clenched that hand into a fist, and brought it away. _That – It. . .I didn't do that. Just forget it._

"St-stop it! Please, don't!"

Ian got to his knees, and peered around the tree. The source of all the noise was a rather pretty girl. Long black hair, almond-shaped eyes, about five-four. . . She was surrounded by about four rough-looking characters. Oh, wait. . .there was a male figure curled up on the ground.

As Ian was watching, one of the thugs gave the figure on the ground a kick. The girl wailed in response. Ian pulled back, and sat back down. It was the classic bully situation with a small twist. The thugs were beating on the girl's boyfriend, and she happened to be there when they caught him. Something that happened frequently. It was a normal occurrence.

It was also none of his business. It would be better if he stayed out of it. And besides, it be just thing _he _would do – to run in there and stop the whole commotion. _But I'm _not_ him. So I should do the exact opposite, right? _Some teacher or supervisor would discover it soon anyway and stop it.

Ian closed his eyes, no longer feeling hungry. He tried to ignore the girl's wails, which were increasing in volume. He tried to ignore the dull, familiar thuds which he _knew _ were the sounds of the girl's boyfriend behind beaten. He tried to ignore the bullies' satisfied snickers, who were obviously enjoying the superior feeling they got from picking on the weak.

He really did try.

"_Please, _stop it!" The girl cried.

"This is getting boring," one thug muttered in disgust. "Guy's not even fighting back."

"Hmm, yeah. . . .hey! Why don't we make it more interesting?"

"Yeah? Whatchya thinking?"

"I got a new knife yesterday. Let's see if he squeals when he gets cut." Cruel, excited laughter drifted to Ian's ears, followed by the girl's shrill cry of horror.

None of his business, none of his business.

So why was he walking around the tree, and towards the group?

He had a vague idea. It was stupid, but he just couldn't sit there and let a girl watch her boyfriend get sliced up by idiots.

Ian strode towards the group quickly, not even realizing that his hands were curled into fists. "Hey!" he called out. "What do you think you're doing?"

Four big, brawny teenagers turned to look at him, disbelief and scorn all over their faces. They were clearly thinking something along the lines of "what does this stupid twerp think he's doing?" The girl was staring at him with teary eyes, hopeful and pleading at the same time. The poor boy on the ground didn't move at all, or even make a sound. Was he even still alive?

_Still alive? No. . . dead. . . _An innocent woman, _dead. _An innocent man, _dead. _Death by bullets. Death by a teenager. . .

Ian stumbled, eyes widening in horror. _No! Not mine. Not mine! _He forced his mind to clear, to empty, to become blank. _ He_'s _gone. Gone. . ._ He recovered quickly enough, and focused his attention on the matter at hand. Now, why was he doing this again?

"Whaddya want?" The boy with the knife drawled lazily. He was smaller than his cronies, but with the knife in his hand, he was feeling pretty confident. He was sure he could scare this newcomer away.

However, Ian wasn't planning on being scared away. "Leave them alone," he said quietly. "Just go away, all right?"

"Now why would we do that? We're having so much fun, aren't we?" The knife-bearing bully looked over at the girl, and smiled a grotesque smile. She made an odd sound, something between a sob and a hiccup, and gazed pleadingly at Ian.

"See that?" The bully turned back to Ian. "We're having lots of fun, so why don't you join in, too? Let's see how long it takes for Mr. Boyfriend to start crying for his mommy."

A man flashed before Ian's mind. A man with black and white skin wearing a sickening smile. "_All I had to do was send a bullet right through the window, and straight into his head. It was great; and incredibly thrilling, you know? One second he was telling some old story to all those little children, and then pop -" _The man pointed a finger at his own head, and mimed shooting_ - "He was dead. Easy as that." _

Disgusted rage and hatred welled up like a tidal wave, almost overwhelming him. "You are sick," he hissed at the four teenagers. His hands trembled. "Get out of here."

"Huuhh?" The bully leaned in closer, like he had trouble hearing. "Whassat?"

Ian glared. "I said. Get. Out. Of. Here. _Now._"

All four of them looked stunned. They looked at him, uncertain, and a little fearful. This newcomer – he was starting to scare them. Those dark eyes seemed to burn them alive, flay them right where they stood. But their leader still had faith in his new pocket knife.

"What're ya gonna do?" He sneered at Ian. "You're way outnumbered. There's no way - "

"Shut up," Ian snapped. He helped the bully to do it by lifting a leg and slamming his foot into the kid's face. The boy fell like a heavy stone, and his precious knife clattered to the ground a second later.

"H-hey!" The others charged Ian as one.

Ian stepped to the side, so that all three passed harmlessly by. Moving in from behind, he kicked one of them in the butt, sending him sprawling to the ground. The remaining two whirled around, shouting some angry nonsense.

They swung heavy fists at the same time, attacking him from both sides. Ian grabbed one wrist, and ducked under the other. He drove his own fist into the gut of the boy he held, then let go. Spinning around, he dodged another wild swing, and slammed his elbow into the last bully's stomach. The boy went down, and immediately vomited.

Hearing a noise behind him, Ian whirled, and glared death and daggers at the boy whose butt he'd kicked, literally. The teenager, who'd been trying to sneak up, immediately sat back down, wincing.

Ian turned away, and stepped over three twitching bodies to get to the girl's boyfriend. Kneeling down, he observed a pair wide, frightened eyes gaping at him. "Can you stand?" he asked quietly.

"Uh. . .y-yeah, I th-think. . ." The boy pulled away, and struggled to get to his feet. Ian noticed that he'd have a face full of bruises tomorrow morning. It could've been worse if he hadn't stepped in when he did. He rose, and stepped back. The girl seemed to have gathered her quivering wits because she rushed over to her boyfriend.

She clutched his arm, then looked at Ian. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Hn." Ian turned away. Most of his anger had faded away; now he was just annoyed like a hornet whose hive had just been destroyed. Time to go back inside. He was sick of being outside.

"That was really neat!" A female's voice suddenly cooed. "So you _do_ have some useful skills!"

Ian stopped. He stared. A beautiful, long-legged girl stood in front of the school's doors, smiling mockingly at him. Her blond hair was long and curly, curving lightly about her waist. Her baby blue eyes were fixed directly on him.

"Jasmine," he growled. "What are you doing here?"

ARARA

He'd just been curious. He'd just wanted to know more. But now, Tom wasn't sure if he was glad he'd followed Ian outside, or if he was regretting that decision.

Well, he supposed he was glad, because the way that Ian took out those bullies – that was awesome! The transfer student had to have gone to some famous, huge martial arts dojo or something to learn how to do _that_. Barely five seconds, and all four of them were on the ground. On the other hand, Tom wasn't sure if it was a good thing. Ian had looked really angry when taking on those guys, and if he found out that Tom was following him. . .

Tom leaned against the side of the garbage container. He was lucky it was a huge, cement thing – it was big enough to hide him completely if he crouched.

"That was really neat!" The sound of the velvety, smooth female voice made him look again. "So you do have some useful skills!"

Tom became mesmerized by the vision standing in front of the door. She was definitely older than he was, but that didn't matter. She was a gorgeous, model-like beauty that just demanded to be stared at.

"Jasmine." Ian stopped right in front of the girl. In a voice that sound angry, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Huh? Wait a minute. Ian _knew _this stunning beauty? Tom leaned in towards the pair, trying to glean every bit of information he could gather.

"Aw, I was so excited," Jasmine pouted, crossing her arms. "I couldn't wait to get started, so I thought -"

"Look." Ian walked up to her, and stood nose-to-nose, getting in her personal space. "I don't need, nor do I _want _ a wannabe following me around for two months. So why can't you just forget about it, and go away?"

Jasmine didn't seem fazed. "Why the harsh words? Don't you like me?"

"No." Ian tried to walk around her, but she only stepped into his way.

"I came to see you. So why can't you be nice?"

"Go away." He tried to get past her, but again she blocked his path. He let out an annoyed sound. "Why are you so persistent?"

"'Cause I'm curious. I want to know more about you. They said you're a replacement, but I want to know: Are you just as good as him? Or was he better than you? Hmmm?"

Ian went still. "Stop it."

"Tell me first. Are you just as good as the famous Alex Rider?"

Tom froze. And stared at them in shock. What. . .what was this?

"Just. . .just shut up!" Ian shouted. "He has _nothing _to do with me! Alex Rider is _dead_!"

ARARAR

_I don't understand. _

_Why am I panicking at the mere mention of that name? It was supposed to be lost, forgotten. But. . ._

_I stare at her, fists clenched, shaking. . . angry. . .frightened._

"_Alex is dead?" A small voice asks quietly from behind me._

_I know that voice. _

_I turn slowly, so slowly, and face a nightmare. _

_Tom. _

_Why is he here?_

_Shock. Panic._

_Horror._

_Fear._

_Blinding, overwhelming fear._


	20. Nineteen: Cracked

_**Geh, this chapter was really hard to write. At least, with this chapter, all the angsty-ness is over. (Thank goodness! I'm getting depressed writing this stuff.) Next chapter, the fun begins again!

* * *

**_

NINETEEN

"Alex Rider is dead?" Tom just stared at him. That totally shell-shocked gaze was more than Ian could handle, especially since it was directed straight at him.

Ian struggled to pull himself together. _This is my best friend....I can't – I have to do this. I have to! _He swallowed hard, and dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

"You -" his voice cracked, and he tried again. "You....knew Alex?" So hard. It was so hard to keep his voice level and calm. _I'm sorry, Tom. But you can't know._

"He – He was my best friend," Tom murmured dazedly. He stepped closer, peering at Ian with a strange intensity. "How did you know him?"

"Uh. . .I. . ." Ian didn't know what to say. Just how much did Tom know? How much could he tell Tom without him piecing everything together? "I met him. . .once."

"H-how did he die?"

Ian couldn't take much more of that shell-shocked expression on Tom's face. "He was shot," he blurted out. "By some kind of sniper. That's all I know. I'm sorry. I – I've got to go!" He whirled around, grabbed Jasmine by the wrist, and fled inside the school building.

Once he was behind the safety of several thick walls, he leaned against a set of lockers, and allowed himself to sag. He'd forgotten that he was still gripping Jasmine's wrist. Actually, he'd forgotten the girl was even there.

There were more pressing matters going on inside his head. Namely, a struggle to push back unwanted emotions, and all of the haunting whispers that came with them.

_You lied to him, _the whispers said to him. _Alex isn't dead, you know._

_Yes, he is! _He mentally yelled back, trying to shove those thoughts into a tiny box, trying to make it all go away and become a peaceful blank space once again. It did not work. Somewhere, somehow, they came slithering back; it was like there was a hole in a dam that held all the water back, and now the water was trickling through, slowly but steadily chipping away at the hole, making it larger, weakening the entire dam in the process.

_Tom's going to be grieving over a lie, _the whispers said.

_It's for the best, _he immediately shot back, the guilt starting to feel like a pressure that was bearing down on him. It was the right thing, wasn't it? _Better that than. . ._

And then he'd realized that he'd been agreeing with the whispers. He groaned. Wasn't sure if it was mentally, or physically out loud.

It was crumbling. He knew it, but couldn't admit it. Didn't _want _to admit. The borders between the past and present were blurring. Ian was crumbling, chipped away by the trickle of water.

_No,_ he thought desperately. _It's not a lie. It's the truth! I'm not lying, because. . .because he _is _dead. _ Even as he repeated that mantra, it felt weak and unconvincing. Because deep, deep down, somewhere hidden in the depths of the dark, he knew.

He knew the _real _truth.

Ian was crumbling.

"Hey!" The sudden shout jerked Ian out of his miserable musings, and he'd realized that Jasmine had been shouting.

"What. . .?"

"Didn't you _hear _me? I said, _let go _of my arm!" She was glaring, and Ian suddenly became aware that he'd been holding her wrist all this time. Not only that, but he'd been gripping it so hard, his knuckles had become white.

He immediately released her, stepping back. "S-sorry." Her wrist was a dark red where he'd been holding it. She'd probably be bruised by the next day.

Ian turned away, a bit horrified. She was an irritating monster, but still. . .she didn't deserve that. "Sorry," he muttered again. "I didn't realize. . ."

"_That's _for sure," she snapped. "What was that about, huh? Who's that kid? A friend of Alex's?"

He didn't want to deal with this. So he started to walk away.

She grabbed his shoulder, forced him to face her. "What's your problem? I asked you a question, so answer it!"

Ian just looked at her, seeing a spoiled teen-aged girl. She was four years older than him, yet he only got the impression of a rich brat. Like Ricard. . . .

He shook his head slowly, tiredly. "Just shut up already. I don't want to answer your stupid curiosity, and I'm not going to. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an annoying, spoiled brat."

It was like someone jabbed her with a cattle prod. She jerked straight, her expression stunned. Ian watched her with detached, weary amusement. He bet that no one had ever told her that to her face before. Well, it was about time.

This time, she didn't stop him from walking away. A few moments later, the bell rang, signaling that another day of school had begun.

ARARAR

The next week passed by, painfully slow. For Ian, it was nothing short of being downright miserable. Tom missed the next two days of school, which was fine. He could deal with Tom's absence. But Tom came back on Thursday, and attended school like nothing had happened.

Sure, he looked like a washed-out ghost, with his pale face, and pained expression. That was his only sign of grief. He paid attention in class, answered questions calmly, and used the excuse that he'd been sick whenever someone asked him why he missed school, or why he looked like his dog died.

Yet, Tom still watched Ian. More so than ever before. Whenever Ian glanced back in the class room, he met Tom's steady, thoughtful gaze. Whenever Ian went outside during lunch to find some quiet, Tom was always somewhere nearby, watching, observing. Almost. . .calculating.

It was unnerving. Ian had thought that with what he'd told Tom, the boy would leave him alone. The effect had turned out to be the opposite, and Ian found himself becoming even more nervous and unraveled. With Tom's constant watch, he worried whether he gave something away with his words, or his actions. What if something he did turned out to be a huge clue, and give away the whole chaotic truth?

Every time he opened his mouth to speak, he wondered, _Is this something _he _said a lot? Was this how _he _said it?_

Every time they played sports, he was thinking every movement through. He _was really good at this, so I should do it terribly. A normal kid shouldn't be able to do that, so I need to be careful. Am I doing this too badly? Is it obvious?_

He was conscious of everything he did, trying to remember if _he _had had any obvious little habits, or quirks. It was more difficult than he realized. The problem was, he couldn't _remember. _The differences between Ian and Ale – _him! - _were seemingly becoming non-existent. He could barely recall the difference in their personalities, attitudes and emotions, or if there were any differences to begin with.

One of them was dead, so therefore was supposed to be nonexistent. Yet, even though he fought against it with all of his strength, that dead identity was seeping back from the grave.

And Jasmine. She came over twice to tutor him. While she had good knowledge of the subjects he needed help with, she applied very little of it during their sessions. She was more interested in Alex Rider, and Ian's relations to him.

No matter what he said or did, she persisted, refusing to be driven back with a glare or snarling retort. The more he told her to shut up, the more she pressed him. She was absolutely fascinated with the idea of being a secret agent, and she saw Alex as her opportunity to getting her foot into that door.

Their study sessions did nothing more than stress him out further. It was annoying, her constant, repetitive questions about _him. _At least Jacqueline was there to help calm things down. With her help, he was able to chase Jasmine out of the door earlier.

But Jack could only do so much. With her new identity, courtesy of MI6, she really had no choice but to obey them. She was limited as to what she could do, and one thing she couldn't do, was to get rid of Jasmine entirely.

It was thanks to these events that Ian never noticed something odd going on at Brookland School. It was something barely out of place, so Wolf, who was responsible for watching the school, didn't even see it.

A white sedan, with tinted windows. Parked for one hour across from the school, every day for the past week. It arrived at 8:55 a.m., every school morning, and left an hour later, at exactly 10 o'clock. For the whole hour, it simply sat there, while its occupants observed the school.

It was among several other vehicles that parked there everyday. Any person who noticed it would've thought that someone had a job or something nearby, and just parked there everyday. But only a few would notice that nobody ever left, or entered the vehicle for the entire time.

ARARAR

"How long is he going to keep it up?" Jack murmured to no one in particular. She had just watched the teenager leave the kitchen table and go straight to his room. It was something he'd been doing for a while now, leaving right after meals to go hide out in his room. He rarely talked to her now, and it hurt.

"I'm not sure," came Ben's quiet answer. Acting his part as her husband, he still sat at the table, sipping at a can of non-alcoholic beer. "It was only supposed to be temporary, just until he got his bearings."

"I don't think he realizes that, Ben," Jack said. She glanced over at the SAS-turned MI6 agent. She was suddenly glad that out of K-Unit, he'd been the one to take this position. The others were friendly enough, but he seemed the most mature, the most approachable. If the situation had been different, she'd probably be attracted to him. "I think he took the new identity thing seriously."

"It was to be expected, but only for a little while. It's been over a month now. Maybe you should talk to him."

Jack laughed bitterly. "Have you seen him lately? He hardly talks to me anymore. I'm barely a part of his world. If anyone were to get through to him, it'd be someone who understands all that cloak and dagger stuff."

Ben nodded, looking thoughtful. After a moment of silence, he offered a gentle smile and met her gaze. "Don't write him off yet, Jack. He still a kid, and he still needs you, even though he may not realize it."

ARARAR

Ian had spent the entirety of Saturday in his room, sleeping, staring at the ceiling, or trying to read his schoolbooks unsuccessfully. By Sunday, he was ready to get out of the house. So he came out, muttered to Jack that he was going for a walk, and left the house.

He'd barely gotten past the front yard when a familiar voice spoke up. "Nice morning, isn't it?"

Besides a small jerk of surprise, Ian barely reacted. He looked over to the nearest tree, against which a familiar figure lurked. "What do you want, Scare?"

Immediately, the easy smile disappeared from the man's face. He straightened, and walked over to Ian, his expression completely serious. "Walk with me, kid."

Not having much of a choice, Ian found himself walking down the sidewalk with Scare at his side. Three blocks of silence, before Scare finally spoke up.

"I once knew a man. A great man, really. I was probably around your age when I first met him. . ."

Ian wasn't sure what the sniper was going on about, but he kept silent. Something about the man's seriousness made him listen.

Scare looked at him. "His name was John Rider."

Ian skipped a step, and nearly stumbled. But he recovered quickly. "What's your point?" he muttered.

"I promised a boy once, that I'd tell him about his father," Scare spoke quietly, watching Ian closely. "But that boy. . .has gone missing."

"That's because he's dead," Ian snapped, suddenly irritated.

"Is he?" Scare asked softly. "I think he's merely missing. . .perhaps hiding somewhere. Cowering in some dark place because he's too afraid to face the world." He looked away from Ian, and gaze up at the sky. "It's a pity. His father was never so cowardly."

Ian was biting his tongue, too stunned and upset to respond verbally.

Scare lifted a hand in farewell. "Well, I'd better go. Until Alex Rider comes back, I guess I can't really tell him what his father wanted to say to him. . ." He stepped off the sidewalk, and onto the street. A car passed by, hiding his form for a brief moment, followed by another two cars. When the street was clear, there was no sign of the mercenary.

ARARAR

He sat in the park, considering what would happen if he just. . .disappeared. Probably, not very many people would care. Well, MI6 would miss their little secret weapon. They could just find another kid to shanghai into working for them, and ruin _his _life, too. But Jack. . .

Ian closed his eyes, and leaned forward. Jack. . .she must've been hurt all this time. But she did whatever she could to help, or make things easier. If only he hadn't come into her life – she'd be so much happier.

Silent, barely-there footsteps came beside him. For a moment, they just stood, then a large form settled itself down on the park bench beside him. Ian didn't bother moving. He could guess who it was.

"You okay?" A gruff voice asked. Wolf's voice.

Ian didn't even bother answering, because frankly, that was a really dumb question.

"Er. . .I guess you wouldn't be, huh. Sorry."

The man fell silent, and they just sat on the bench for a long while. Minutes passed slowly. Ian remained curled up on the bench, feet pulled up, head buried in his knees. Wolf remained still, watching families romp over the park, their laughter and shouts distant. A stray dog trotted back and forth between the people, eager to join the fun.

"I've killed a lot of people," Wolf suddenly said. "It's part of the job description, you know? Fighting the bad guys, saving the world." He paused, and looked over at Ian.

The kid hadn't moved. Which was a good sign, he supposed, since it meant that Ian was listening. He sighed. This was so awkward. He never was good at giving talks to kids.

"I was twenty-four when I killed my first bad guy," he went on. "It was on our first mission as an unit. Some low-key terrorists were holed up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and it was our job to bring them in. It went well, at first. We stormed the place, covered all exits. Snake and I went in the front door, while Fox and Eagle went in the back. There were four of the terrorists, like intel had said, all at the kitchen table, having some kind of meeting. So we jumped them, and captured them with little trouble.

"But intel had made a mistake. There'd been a fifth guy. And it was our mistake too, since we didn't bother sweeping the rest of the cabin." Wolf paused, remembering the moment with a gloomy face. "He came out with an AK-47. Snake was hit in the shoulder, I was grazed on the arm. I didn't think, only reacted. My men were in trouble, so I shot him. Three times in the chest. There was some crazy gunfight after that, since the four we'd captured took advantage of the moment. We took out the rest fairly quickly, but the last guy had a grenade. We managed to get out on time, but the cabin was destroyed. The explosion caused a fire, and it burnt down in a few hours."

Wolf hesitated, his rugged features dark. "But what we didn't realize, is that there were civilians in that cabin. They were being held hostage in one of the bedrooms by the fifth terrorist. If we'd only known. . .if we'd known that they were there, we could've saved them. _I _could've saved them..."

"But you didn't know," a small voice told him. Startled, Wolf looked over at the boy. Haunted brown eyes met his own, and he got the sudden impression that he wasn't looking at Ian, but at Alex Rider.

"Exactly," he looked away. That lost look in those eyes disturbed him, though he was careful not to let show on his rugged face. "Sometimes, sh- er, things happen, and there's nothing we can do. So -"

"It's not the same!" Alex exclaimed. He clutched his head with one hand, as if trying to keep it from falling apart. "It's not the same," he whispered. "Those innocent people, I _knew, _and I still killed them."

Wolf was silent for a long while, trying to figure out how to respond to that. What _could _one say to that? He exhaled a long breath of air. "Why did you kill them?"

"Wh-why?" the boy seemed startled. "I – I'm not sure why. . ." He started to tremble, tormented by those moments.

"Did you want to kill them?"

Alex jerked up, his eyes wide with horror and self-loathing. "No! But I did it anyway! I'm a murderer, Wolf. A murderer. . ."

"You were manipulated, Alex." The SAS said firmly. He lifted a hand, and almost reached out to touch the boy. But Alex looked so fragile, that maybe a simple touch would shatter him. He dropped his hand, and inwardly cursed Scorpia and MI6 alike for creating such a mess. "Scorpia lied, and manipulated you into a corner. You killed Tulip Jones, which there really is no excuse for. Ah. . .what I meant was, you made a huge mistake. But you're not a murderer, Alex."

"That's -!"

"In my books, a true murderer is like a serial killer. Someone who _enjoys _offing people, and doesn't feel a bit of remorse. You're just a kid, you know. A kid whose made some real big mistakes that'll probably haunt you for the rest of your life. Now you're just going to have to deal with it, just like I've never forgotten those civilians who burned to death in that cabin. But at least I'm not letting it ruin my life."

Wolf got to his feet, then, having said what he could. Maybe he should go down to the Bank and give those people a good piece of his mind. And a piece of his fist,too, while he was at it. _Bloody idiots, the lot of them!_


	21. Twenty: Hatched

_**Here you are: Enjoy!!**_

**_This is the last chapter with 'Ian' in it._**

**_And today's my birthday! I'm a fifth of a century old. :(_**

**_And thanks for waiting so patiently for an update...I had issues.  
_**

**_

* * *

  
_**

TWENTY

It rained Monday. A steady downpour that drenched everything within minutes. Ben had to give Ian a ride to school before he went to work, so as a result, the teen was there nearly thirty minutes early. With nothing better to do, he found his classroom, and sat in his desk. A chair had been placed beside his to accommodate Jasmine, so she could tutor him during class.

He propped his head up with a hand, and stared out of the windows. Gray skies, gray rain. Lovely weather. It didn't take long for him to grow bored with the view, so he laid his head down on the desk.

He found himself recalling what Wolf had said the day before. About how innocent people ended up dead because of a mistake. Because they didn't realize the people had been there, and because they never thought to check the entire cabin. . .

It wasn't just himself that had been responsible for innocent people's deaths. Wolf, the K-Unit, and probably a lot of other military units had seen such things through. Although, unlike Wolf, he had directly taken their lives.

_Enough. I don't want to think about this. _He was just so tired. Tired of the struggle to keep it all hidden away behind a mask. Sick of lying to Tom. Shouldn't he just stop hiding, or cowering like Scare had said? Couldn't he just be _himself?_

_No! I can't do that! What would Tom do if he knew? What would _I _do? Could I really continue living normally knowing that I -_

He shivered, suddenly frightened of the way his thoughts were going. Like countless times before, he emptied his mind, and relaxed slightly, drifting in the quiet, still emptiness. It was a kind of a peace, in a way.

The attempt to doze was interrupted as someone approached his desk. Ian ignored the person, hoping that whoever it was would get the hint and go away. But the person seemed to just stand there, breathing lightly. After a long moment, Ian lifted his head to see who it was.

Oh. He was too tired to feel much surprise, or even any emotion for that matter. "What do you want?"

Tom sat down in Jasmine's chair, fixing Ian with an intent stare. "You're different," he said simply.

"Everybody's different," Ian retorted.

"No, that's not what I meant. _You're _different from anybody else. You don't act like a student. And you just. . ._look _different."

"What, do I have two heads or something?"

Tom didn't see the humor. He was being totally serious, and Ian realized that Tom wasn't leaving until he got what he wanted. A faint smile crossed Ian's face. Tom. . . Tom could be pretty persistent when he wanted to be. He recalled a few times in the past when Tom had displayed that dogged determination, back when the two of them were just simple friends without all of this mess between them. . .

"You're a lot like Alex was," Tom told him quietly. "Yet, you're not. You knew him, and you knew how he died. And I know that you're what he used to be, a spy. I know that, and I won't tell anyone. But I want to know. . ." he leaned closer, lowered his voice. "Who are you, really?"

Ian stiffened, his eyes growing cold. "That's none of your business."

"You can't scare me away, Ian. Is that even your real name?" Tom didn't even flinch at Ian's icy glare. "I don't know what's going on, but you're going to tell me. Because if you don't, I'm going to tell everyone that you're a spy working for MI6."

"They're not going to believe you," Ian said calmly. "And it's not even true. I'm not a -"

"_Don't _try to mess with me! Alex was my best friend! I have a _right _to know what's going on, because he was involved with you!" Tom stopped, his face not even a foot away from Ian's as he _glared_ at the transfer student.

Ian was completely flabbergasted. _This _was Tom? A student who acted more like a boy than a man, who thought that being a secret agent was nothing more than a glorified, adventurous game? A boy who was always goofing off, being the careless, laid-back type who really didn't take a serious view to life?

A small, sad smile crept onto his face. _Looks like Alex's 'death' really affected him. _"Alex was shot right here," Ian tapped the left side of his own chest, right where the wicked little pink scar marked his latest injury.

"A sniper from Scorpia killed him," he went on softly. "That's why you should just forget about this. It's too dangerous for you to know anymore. If you know too much, you could be the next target." _I'll make sure that won't _ever _happen!_

Tom watched him with a strange expression. He remained silent, and Ian wondered if he'd said his last thought out loud. He couldn't have, could he?

"You look like him," Tom whispered, looking at Ian's face closely. "If your hair was blonde. . ..and if you smiled a bit, you'd look just like -"

Ian instant recoiled in alarm. He stammered, "L-like what?"

"Like Alex," Tom said, with no small amount of wonder. "Just who _are _you?"

"Uh. . ." For a brief second, his mind went totally blank of intelligent thought. Panic reigned instead, and he struggled to not let it show on his face.

Jasmine, of all people, saved him. She came bounding in, all bright and cheerful. "Hey, Ian!"

And for once, he was happy to see her.

ARAR

He had no last name, going simply by the name of Shane. He was one of those generic people, looking like any kind of intelligent university professor, or teacher, or perhaps a scientist. A scholarly type, he liked to think of himself. It was rather ironic, since his next target was going to be a school. Brookland School.

By all standards, it wasn't a large school. It had just over twelve hundred students, which wasn't that much considering the size of the other schools. He had taken everything into consideration, and had decided that this was the school he wanted. The perfect target. Easy to take, easy to hold, and people in general were very easy to manipulate when it came to children.

The man named Shane wondered why he hadn't thought of this earlier. He checked his watch. Almost half past nine. Time to start preparations, for in one hour, Brookland School and all of its bratty British children would be under his control. And the lovely government would have no choice but to meet his demands.

ARAR

"Now that I've showed you the process, I want each of you to do the next three problems in your books." Mrs. Geralds squinted severely at them, making sure that every student was paying their absolute best attention as possible. As her strict gaze passed over Ian, she frowned.

The boy seemed to be in a whispered argument with that tutor of his. She never did approve of the girl as a tutor – she would've made a better cheerleader than an educative assistant – but what the higher-up said, went. "Is there a problem, Mr. Daniels, Ms. Jasmine?"

Both jerked their heads up. The boy had a faintly irritated scowl, while the girl bore a sickly sweet smile. "Oh no, everything is fine, Mrs. Geralds," the girl responded. "I'm just trying to help Ian understand, but he seems to be having some issues -"

"I see. Just keep it down, then. We are here to learn, not to create a ruckus." With that said, Mrs. Geralds turned her attention to the other students.

At that moment, the intercom crackled, and Mr. Bray's voice, the principal, came over the speakers. "G-good morning, everyone. I'd like to ask everyone – all the students and all the staff – to. . .to come immediately to the gymnasium for a quick assembly. There's. . .some important information that we all should know." Abruptly, the principal signed off, and the intercom system fell silent.

The entire classroom was silent. Heads were lifted, looking up with a faint surprise at the sudden call for an assembly. Mr. Bray was usually an organized principal, rarely calling everyone to the gym without any advance notice. He was a firm believer that students should have little interruptions in their studies, and often scheduled any announcements or activities at the very beginning, or the end of the day. However, he was the principal of Brookland school, and whatever he said was what happened.

Mrs. Geralds brought her hands together in a sharp clap that grabbed everyone's attention. "Well, you heard him – line up in front of the door. We will have to continue these problems later."

As Ian rose to his feet with the rest of the class, he couldn't help but feel bothered by something. The sudden announcement over the speakers had made him uneasy. He wasn't sure if it was his paranoia, but Mr. Bray's voice had sounded. . .strained. Or disturbed.

"Aww," Jasmine tossed her head, flipping her hair over a shoulder. "I hate these things. They're so boring."

Ian scowled at her. "Why don't you stay behind then? It'd be much more pleasant without you."

She humphed, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily, Mr. Spy-boy."

He spun his head to glare at her, giving a warning hiss. Not that there was any real danger, but it was extremely irritating to have such a loose-tongued vixen around. Especially when she knew enough about his life to ruin the illusion of normalcy he tried to hold up. Jasmine merely smiled sweetly.

Honestly. The girl wanted to be a spy, and she acted like this? She wouldn't last a minute on the field; her own stupidity would be her undoing. As everyone shifted to the front of the room, forming a crooked line, Ian absentmindedly joined them. He was second last; Jasmine came behind him.

And then it hit him. Mr. Bray was scared. That faint hesitation and that slight tremor were clear symptoms that something had frightened the principal. Classes at Scorpia had involved reading body language and irregularities in the voice in order to predict people's thoughts and actions. So Ian _knew _that something bad was going on.

He became lost in thought, trying to figure it out. Or maybe he was just thinking too much into the whole situation. _Maybe he just received bad news – a family member could have been in some sort of accident. Then why call the whole school to the gymnasium? Maybe he heard of a flu epidemic going around. That could be a possible explanation. . ._

But any of those ideas just didn't fit the bill. Something deep inside, a honed instinct, warned Ian that it was something worse than the flu. It told him to check it out, to slip away and make sure that everything was all right.

However, that was something Alex Rider would do. Alex would act with little thought in order to satisfy his curiosity or suspicions. _But what am I?_ Ian wondered darkly. _If I am not Alex. . .am I just a mask? A empty shell?_

_'...he's merely missing. . .perhaps hiding somewhere. Cowering in some dark place because he's too afraid to face the world.' _The words came unbidden to his mind, whispering inside his head like the wind over a field of tall grasses. He shivered, trying to push the whispers away, but they persisted, determined to make him crack, to break.

"Hey!" Jasmine poked him between the shoulder blades. Ian blinked, and realized that everyone was walking out into the hall. He hurried to catch up.

Students chatted amongst themselves, wondering what the important announcement could be. Some speculated that they were getting a new pool, while another boy declared that the school was going to be shut down.

Despite all the chatter, Ian found it strangely quiet and eerie. Down the hall, he saw another class making its way to the gymnasium. There were no other teachers or adults in sight other than the homeroom teachers. Even Wolf, who usually seemed to hang around in the hallways, was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't anything major, or out of the unusual, but coupled with the uneasy feeling in his gut, it just made him all the more wary.

Ian noticed a men's room just ahead. He slowed slightly, looking around. Jasmine was stifling a yawn behind him. Mrs. Geralds was at the front of the line, leading the march. Tom had been looking back at him, still wearing that strange expression. When Ian met his gaze, Tom hastily looked forward.

The men's room was only a few steps ahead. Before he was even aware that a decision had been made, Ian found himself slipping through the door. He entered a stall, closed the door, and waited.

_What am I doing?!_

The door suddenly opened, and someone entered. He stiffened, holding his breath.

"Ian?"

He sagged, giving a mental groan. Why her? He pushed open the the stall door, stepped out. Without a word, he grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her back into the stall with him. He locked the door.

"What are you doing?" She exclaimed, pulling away from him in shock.

_Good question. I have no idea. _He threw a hand over her mouth. "Shhh!" he hissed. "Do you want to get caught?"

She pushed his hand away, her face disgusted. "_What _are you doing?" She demanded, but this time, she kept her voice down.

"I don't know. Something's just. . .strange."

"Oh, I know that. That something's you!"

"This is a men's room."

"So?"

"You followed me into a men's room."

"And. . .?"

"That's just wrong! And creepy! Why - ?!"

The door suddenly creaked open again. Both of them froze. A moment of silence, as the door was held open. Ian looked down, and inwardly cursed. Jasmine stood in front of him -- her feet could clearly be seen. He was bit behind her, so his feet were hidden, to some degree. Immediately, he gingerly stepped up onto the toilet seat, which squeaked in response. The sound seemed to be deafeningly loud. He cringed.

"Hey!" A man's voice called out harshly. "You – get out of there!"

Jasmine looked up at Ian, her eyes suddenly wide. She realized what he had done, hiding his own feet so the man would think it was only one person in the stall. And if Ian had moved fast enough, before the man noticed the two sets of feet, he'd be safe. As long as Jasmine didn't ruin everything. He met her gaze pleadingly, hoping she got the idea.

"Please," he mouthed silently, then kicked himself mentally. What was he thinking? The girl would never -

"Come on!" The man's tone grew harsher. "I can _see_ your feet – if you don't come out _now_, I'll come get you myself! _Everyone_ is to gather at the gymnasium, and that includes you!"

Ian closed his eyes. Well, this was it. His attempt to find out what was going on was thwarted. He made to get down from the toilet seat, when Jasmine poked his leg savagely. His eyes flew open, and noticed her dark glare.

"You owe me," she mouthed silently. Then she unlocked the door, and slipped outside, careful to keep Ian hidden.

"A girl?!" The man was incredulous. Obviously, he hadn't been around teenagers for very long if he was surprised by a girl in the guy's lavatory. "_What_ are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see what it looked like?" Jasmine flicked her hair back calmly.

The man heaved a huge sigh. "Come on, get out of here. Now we're going to be late."

Ian listened silently as the two left, the door swinging shut behind them. He waited, still perched on the toilet. Seconds ticked by slowly, becoming long, drawn out minutes. He checked his watch. Three minutes and twenty-five seconds passed. He waited until five minutes went by.

By now, Mrs. Geralds was sure to notice that he'd gone missing, and would probably send someone to get him. He needed to get out of here before then. Maybe hide in one of the empty classrooms for a bit. No, that'd be too obvious. A janitor's closet would be better. Or even the staff's lounge room.

He jumped off the toilet, and exited the stall. He went to the door. Pressed his ear to it. Listened for a few moments. Nothing. He pulled the door open, and stepped out. Looked both ways. The halls were empty.

Great. Now what should he do? _I don't know what I'm thinking...I know Ian is supposed to be a spy on medical leave, but really. Ian's not supposed to be like this! _All right, then. What would Ian do? Ian was a child spy, like _him. _However, Ian was the total opposite of Alex Rider.

So why was he doing this? He felt like grabbing his head and screaming out in frustration. _I'm Ian Daniels! I'm Ian Daniels! I'm Ian Daniels!!!!!_

He grit his teeth, and tried to gain that empty blankness once again. This time, it refused to come. The whispers came instead, reminding him that _he _was hiding in the dark, that _he _was too scared to break out of the empty shell. Reminding him that it was all just one big bad mistake.

_NO!!_ He turned and ran down the hall towards the gym, trying to outrun those stupid whispers. He neared a corner, and skidded around it.

Only to stop dead in his tracks.

A man stood in his way.

A man in black clothing, and a big, black gun. His mind went white.

_Sometimes, things happen, and there's nothing we can do about them, _the whispers said.

He stared at the man. The man stared at him, a slow smile spreading across his sharp, angular features. "Well, what have we here?"

_Why did you kill them?_

"Someone who got a little lost, perhaps?" The man hefted his gun, lifting the muzzle until it was level with the boy's face.

_Did you want to kill them?_

The boy's face drained of all color, and his brown eyes fixated on the gun. He was frozen in place. He didn't breathe.

_You were manipulated, Alex.__Scorpia lied, and manipulated you into a corner. You killed Tulip Jones. . . a huge mistake. But you're not a murderer, Alex._

"Boss said nothing against wasting a lost kid a bit earlier," the man grinned a disgusting grin. His finger curled against the trigger.

The crack spread deeper across the shell, and at that moment, he knew.

It was over.

Alex lunged forward, and a gunshot shattered the air.

.


	22. Twenty One: Advent

_**Wow, this was fun to write. I hope you have just as much fun reading it! There's one more chapter left to the story after this, so expect it within a few days. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**_

TWENTY – ONE

He stood over the fallen man, and tried to figure out what had just happened. The last four seconds had been a blur of motion. One second, he'd been racing straight towards the business end of a huge gun, and now. . .well, the gunman was laid out on the floor.

His heart was pounding in his chest as adrenaline raced through his veins. He had just merely reacted. Pushed the gun up and away – the bullet had pierced the ceiling harmlessly – and shoved a fist into the man's throat.

And that was that.

Alex crouched by the fallen gunman. He drifted a hand over the man's mouth and nose, and felt nothing, not even the faintest puffs of air. The man was dead. He reeled back on his heels, his stomach flipping over itself. With the man's throat smashed in like it was, that was only to be expected.

He stared at the dead man for a moment, before giving himself a mental shake. _Stop it. Don't waste time here. You killed a bad guy, so get on with it. _Swallowing, he leaned forward, and proceeded to quickly search the man. Besides the big semi-automatic gun, there was an extra two clips of ammo, and a giant, wickedly-curved knife. There was no form of ID, nothing to give away even a hint of who he was, or where he was from.

Alex gave up on trying to find any answers for the moment, and removed the small earpiece that the man wore. Some kind of wireless communication device – it might shed some light on the whole situation.

Alex slipped the earpiece over his own ear, then grabbed the extra clips of ammo. He shoved them into his pocket. The big knife was rather unwieldy, but it might come in handy, so he slipped it into the back of his pants, hiding it in the small of his back. Finally, he grabbed the heavy gun. Thankfully, it came with a shoulder strap, and he proceeded to sling the weapon over a shoulder and against his back.

Now he was ready. Though, he hoped he wouldn't have to use the gun.

He dragged the man back down the hall, and into the lavatory, where he propped him up on a toilet. It would keep the body out of the way, for now. Going back out into the halls, he carefully checked both ways. Nothing.

All right, best place to go to get answers would be the gymnasium. But he very well couldn't waltz in the front doors. Better to take a more. . .indirect route. Alex turned down a different hallway, his steps quick, but totally silent. He was slightly crouched over, one hand resting on the gun behind him, just in case.

The earpiece crackled faintly. Alex moved on, moving down the halls one after the other, heading for a certain lavatory. The one he was thinking of was connected to the gym. And the set up was perfect. Inside the gymnasium, a partial, five-foot tall wall extended out of the corner, concealing the entrances to the lavatories. If all went well, he should be able to get out there, and get some idea of what was going on.

If all went well.

He neared the last corner, and suddenly stopped. A male voice had just grumbled to himself around corner. Alex looked for something to throw in order to grab the other's attention. There wasn't much. The floors had just been cleaned, resulting in shiny, object-freeness.

_Great, now I gotta do this the hard way. _The teenaged spy let out a loud, pitiful moan. It did the job.

"Who's there?" A man's gruff voice called out. Alex kept quiet. The man mumbled something under his breath, and came around the corner.

Alex caught a glimpse of black clothing, and an unfamiliar face. He reacted accordingly. The man never saw the foot that flew up into his face. He fell like a sack of potatoes, completely out of it.

Taking a step back, Alex saw that he had just taken down another gunman. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing. He sighed.

The next few minutes were involved with tying the man up with rope found in a conveniently nearby janitor's closet. The man also was locked inside with the mops and brooms. But not after Alex threw the gun, completely disassembled, into the trash can.

The teenager went on towards his destination, which was just down the hall. Two bad guys were down, now. So just how many were there? What exactly was going on, here? Gunmen in a school. Either some kind of army just decided to take a walk in a school, or. . .they were terrorists.

Alex nearly skipped a step. This whole thing wasn't that hard to figure out, really. With everybody stuck in the gymnasium, it'd be easy to create a hostage situation. So. He had to figure out how many bad guys there were, and what they wanted.

There it was! Alex entered the first lavatory door he saw, which ended up leading into the little girl's room. He ignored that fact. And hoped that Jasmine or Jack wouldn't find out, because both of them would never let him hear the end of it.

Going to the other door that led into gymnasium, he pressed his ear against it. He heard nothing. Guess he'd have to go outside. He grasped the handle, and pulled the door open a crack. He waited. Nothing. He opened it enough to peek out. All clear.

He crawled out of the bathroom, careful to let the door swing silently shut. For a moment, Alex just crouched there, concealed by the short, partial wall, and listened. There was a strained silence so heavy, it grated at his nerves. Alex instinctively _knew_ that there was something very, very bad going on here. And he had to see it for himself.

It was a dumb idea, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Moving forward until he was touching the partial wall, he slowly rose up on his feet, until he was peeking above the wall. His eyes widened. Facing him was the entire school, crammed into the gym. Every single face was deathly pale, and utterly terrified.

Alex panned over the rest of the gym. He counted six guys in black, each with huge guns. At the moment, all of them were looking away from his direction as they conversed quietly together. Then he saw the school staff were in a separate group. There was the principle, and Mrs. Bedfordshire, the secretary. Wolf was among them too, a sour expression on his face. But besides that, he looked calm. Probably the only cool-headed janitor in the whole bunch.

Wolf suddenly glanced in Alex's direction, and their eyes met. The man's eyes widened only marginally, before he looked away. Alex slid back down behind the wall. Well, great. What should he do now?

He had his cellphone. Should he call for help? Call the police? MI6? It wouldn't do much to help, he decided. These terrorist guys probably had the whole school locked down, and would predictably threaten to shoot everybody if the police tried to interfere. MI6 was a spy agency that held close connections to the government. It was better if they stayed out of the picture.

So. It was all up to him. Alex Rider, the teen-aged spy. A slow grin spread over his face. Just like old times. Yes, it was good to be back.

He crawled back to the lavatory, and slipped inside. Just as the door began closing, someone outside shouted. "Hey! Who's there?!"

Alex couldn't resist. He stuck his head out of the door. "I just lost my watch somewhere," he called out. "I'm looking for it..."

"Stop!" There was a stampede of feet running towards him. Alex shut the door, and hurriedly backtracked to the door on the other side. He went through it, and stood out in the hall, and waited.

Seconds later, the lav's door was yanked open. "Hey! Get back here, you little runt!!" The terrorist rushed outside, clearly furious.

"Hey," Alex called out softly. The terrorist whirled around, and was greeted by a fist to the face. He reeled back, completely stunned that a little kid had hit him.

Alex stepped froward, slamming both fists, one after the other, into the man's gut. He followed with a spin kick that smashed into the side of the man's head. The terrorist collapsed, and stared up at Alex through fading vision. He saw a black-haired kid with a gun slung across his shoulders. _What the hell -?_ He passed out.

Alex had just dragged the terrorist into the janitor's closet when his earpiece crackled. _"Four, did you get him?" _He paused in his work, looking down at the unconscious man.

"Yeah, I'd say I got him." He resumed wrapping the rope around the man's ankles. This was the last bit of rope. He'd either have to search for more in the other janitor's store room, or start using zip ties. There was a big bag of them, right on that shelf there. Well, zip ties were just as effective.

"_Four, respond!" _The man on the other side of the radio sounded a little peeved. Alex finished tying the man up, and grabbed the gun. What was with these guys and big guns? He left the janitor closet with the gun, and made his way to the nearest trash bin. As he walked, he began breaking the weapon down.

"_Number Four, I'm sending some others. . .ridiculous that you need help to catch some kid. . ." _ The radio fizzed, and went silent.

Alex dropped the gun into the trash bin, all in pieces. Hmm, so more were coming out? He wondered about the other two men he'd taken down in the halls. Why wasn't the leader concerned about them? There hadn't been any attempt over the radio to communicate with them.

He began to feel uneasy. Like he was missing something. He shrugged, and trotted back down the hall, away from the gymnasium. Maybe it was time he checked out the whole school, and made sure no more terrorists were lurking about. After all, hadn't Wolf made that mistake once?

Alex's face became grim. If he wasn't careful, innocent people were going to die. He broke into a light run, his rubber-soled shoes hitting the ground soundlessly. It was time he went for a hunt.

ARAR

Shane was very peeved, to put it mildly. He was regretting hiring those idiotic street thugs. But he had no choice – he was low on good men. Besides himself, he had two other trusted colleagues. They'd been his close friends for the longest time, and he'd trust them with his life.

Now he turned to one of them, a lean, wiry man by the name of Curtis. "Go. Find the kid, and number Four, and bring them back."

Curtis merely nodded, his face serious. He was always serious. He trotted off towards the lavatories, using the same exit that number Four had.

Shane sighed internally. He'd expected the police to be the only trouble. In fact, he was counting on it. But these men he'd hired. . .they weren't all that reliable. His radio crackled.

"_Unit three reporting in – everything's locked up at the front. It all looks good, boss." _

"Good," he responded. "Stay at your position, and let me know when the police arrive."

"_Gotchya." _

_Gotchya? _Shane scowled faintly. What kind of response was that? Useless, the whole lot of them. It looked like he and his two colleagues would have to do the whole operation themselves. Not like it'd be difficult. They were dealing with terrified school children, for crying out loud. What could possibly go wrong?

ARAR

Seven minutes after reporting in, number Three found himself kissing the ground. He'd only caught a glimpse of a black-haired kid before he saw nothing at all. The last thing he was aware of was being dragged by the foot across the smooth floor.

Alex deposited this guy in the staff lounge, duck taping him to one of the heavy lounge chairs. He used up the entire roll in the process, making sure that if the terrorist woke up, he wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.

This made terrorist number five that he'd taken down. There had been one other guy lurking in the halls; he was now safely zip-tied to the piping of a sink in a lavatory down by the computer labs. Not to mention that two more guns were now scattered into a few more trash bins.

Really. These guys called themselves terrorists? They were pathetic! It was incredibly easy to sneak up on them, and once they saw him, they just kind of stared in a - "look! It's a kid!" type of way. Alex left the lounge, and took a moment to lean against the wall.

_All right. I've taken five out – four of them were on patrol, and one of them from the gym. I've gone through the whole school, except for the gym, so I'm pretty certain that there aren't any more patrollers. So there's five left in the gym. Actually, maybe three, since that guy mentioned something about sending "others" to help find me. So I should be expecting a couple of visitors soon, at the very least._

So. . .how to find them before they found him? Alex pushed off from the wall, and started walking back in the direction of the gym. Abruptly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a horrible feeling that he was being watched settled into the pit of his stomach. Reacting instantly, he planted a heel, and _whirled_ around, one hand flying to the gun on his back.

A man in black stood in the middle of the intersection between three hallways. He just stood calmly, watching Alex with cool gray eyes.

Alex froze, one hand still on the gun. A shiver of dread crawled up his spine. He hadn't even heard this guy coming! Who was he? Alex took a moment to evaluate this newcomer. No gun on this one, thankfully. But this guy stood like a martial artist, balanced on the balls of his feet, hands hanging loosely at his sides. This guy was confident in his abilities, and thus no gun. Maybe a knife, hidden in one of those sleeves, or even in the small of his back, like how Alex was hiding his.

A professional, Alec realized. This man was no amateur, like all of the rest. A sudden thought struck him. If this man had snuck up on him without catching his attention, what if there was a second one? Immediately, Alex shifted his head to the side, and used his peripheral vision to both keep an eye on the man, and check for any other threats.

The man was alone. Hiding his sense of relief, Alex faced the man directly, still keeping all senses alert on his surroundings. The terrorist just stood still, watching him. It was slightly unnerving.

The hall was intensely silent, as the two stared at each other. Alex was the first to move, as he grew tired of the staring game. It was a scare tactic, he knew, and if he let it go on any longer, he'd become completely unnerved and do something stupid. So he slipped the gun off his shoulders, and set it on the ground, all the while watching the man in black. He reached out with a foot, and pushed it off to the side.

The man's face remained totally expressionlessly, but his pale eyes gleamed. He understood. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them. An agreement to duel, and to let the more skilled man win. He shifted into a low stance, and held out a hand towards Alex. Two fingers twitched, making the "come and get it" signal.

Alex launched forwards, his nerves stretched taut, his whole body quivering as his blood roared in his veins. He was strangely exhilarated, actually wanting this fight as much as the terrorist seemed to. The man was ready for him, and they clashed together, Alex's fist glancing off the man's forearms.

They exchanged blocks and blows, intertwined in a deadly dance. The man was pretty skilled, obviously having studied some form of martial arts for a few years. Alex, however, was only a teenager. Smaller and weaker, than the man.

However, he was a teenager who had gone through SAS boot camp. He was a teenager who had saved entire countries from disaster, who'd gone on missions all over the world. He was a teenager who'd trained with the best of Scorpia's assassins. He was a teenager who'd killed, who looked a woman in the face as he sent a bullet into her brains, who knew how to destroy his heart in order to commit the most terrible of crime of murder. He was Alex Rider, and this poor man didn't have a clue as to who he was dealing with.

Alex used his smaller size to his full advantage, evading most of the man's blows without much trouble. He leaned to the side, whipping his leg up towards the man's face. The man grabbed Alex's leg, and attempted to throw him into the wall. Alex curled, grabbed the man's arm for leverage, and whipped his other foot into the man's back, just below the shoulder blades.

The air knocked out of him, the man released Alex and stumbled back. Before he could recover, Alex came in low, thrusting his palm up into his opponent's jaw. He spun immediately after, and smashed his elbow into the terrorist's sternum, cracking the bone. Then he stepped back, and watched as the man hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Alex was panting, more out of the adrenaline that rushed through his body than out of exertion. He'd had to pull back at the last moment, because he almost had delivered a killing blow. If he hadn't caught himself. . .the man would be dead. He shuddered. _Gotta be careful. . ._

He leaned over, and grabbed the limp wrist of the terrorist. He proceeded to drag him into the staff lounge.

ARAR

_What's the kid doing? _Wolf glanced around, noting that only four terrorists were left inside the gym. He wanted nothing more than to take them out, but he was only one man. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Still. . .a slow smile spread across his features.

Alex was back in the game. And he was steadily whittling down the numbers.

"Hey! What're you smiling at?!" Wolf noticed that one of the terrorists were glaring at him. "You know something? You know what's going on?" Wolf scowled. This guy was an idiot. But two of them– the leader and another man – they were dangerous.

Oh, great. Now he had all four of them staring at him._ Way to be inconspicuous, Wolf._ He lowered his head, trying to look like a poor, frightened janitor. A pair of shiny black boots walked over and stood in front of him.

"You."

Wolf didn't look up.

"You!" The butt of a gun slammed into his chin, forcing his head to fly up, and his vision to explode in stars. _Ow. . .!_

The boss-man himself glared down at him. "You're too shifty-eyed. Who are you?"

Oh boy. _It'd be bad if this guy found out I'm a SAS guy working for MI6. _Wolf bit back an growly retort, and answered in a trembling voice. "I'm. . .I'm the janitor?" He was careful to not meet the man's gaze, because if he did, he'd probably end up spitting in the man's face.

"No. You look like a soldier. A policeman, perhaps. I've seen the way you've been eying us, like you're thinking of doing something stupid."

_Was I that obvious? _"No, you got it all wrong! I wasn't - "

The butt of the gun flew towards his face. _Oh, . . .!_ He didn't get to finish that thought. The impact threw him flat on his back, and sent his mind spiralling up into the stars.

Somebody screamed, thinking that the janitor was dead. Shane shouted, "Shut up! Any more noise, and I'll kill him for real! Or maybe I'll start with this girl over here." He gestured toward a trembling girl that looked a little old to be in this kind of school. Maybe she was a teacher's aid. . .

Shane stalked over to the other three terrorists. "Where are the police," he muttered. "They should be here by now."

Jasmine had gone completely still when the terrorist had pointed at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to actually shoot her. When he turned away, she sagged with relief. She stared at her hands. They trembled, and she grasped them together to stop their shaking. _What's Ian doing?_

ARAR

Alex's earpiece cracked again. "_Curtis! What's your status?" _

_Um, he's all tied up right now, _he thought. He was now back in the girl's lavatory that was connected to the gym. He needed to see how many left he had to deal with.

"_Respond, Curtis!"_

He opened the bathroom door, and crawled out once more. After making sure the door closed without any sound, he moved over to the wall, preparing to peek once again.

"_Curtis!" _"Curtis!" It was weird hearing the same voice coming from two different places. The voice now proceeded to utter an ugly expletive. But without broadcasting it on the radio.

Alex crawled along the length of the partial wall, moving until he was at the end. He took a deep breath, then stuck out his head.

The hostages looked good, no one was dead, as far as he could tell. Wolf was. . .sleeping? No, he was either dead or unconscious. Probably the latter. Now to count the terrorists.

One, two, three. . .oh, crap. The fourth guy was staring at him.

"The kid! You two, get him! Bring him to me, dead or alive!" Oh, so the fourth guy was the leader of the whole thing. Two of the black-clothed terrorists broke apart, and ran towards Alex's position. Alex didn't waste any time; he jumped to his feet, and fled into the bathroom. This time he hid in one of the stalls, standing on the toilet.

Seconds later, the door burst in, and the two goons entered. "Where is he?"

"I dunno, check the stalls. I'll see if went out this way!" One left through the other door.

Alex shook his head. These two were of the stupid type, that was for sure. Honestly, with these kinds of terrorists around, this country was in no danger. He kicked the stall door open. "Hey!"

"Huh?" The terrorist never had a chance. Alex leaped out of his stall, and charged the man like a raging bull. He football-tackled the terrorist, and sent him crashing into the mirrors and sinks. "Oof!" The terrorist dropped his gun. Alex picked it up, and smacked him upside the head with it.

There, that one was taken care of. Now to go find the other. Alex dropped the gun in one of the toilets; unfortunately, it was too big to flush it down. Then he trotted over to the far door, and pulled it open.

The muzzle of a gun poked him in the head.

"Hah! I knew you'd come out this way!" The terrorist holding the gun snickered. "Thougt you were so smart, huh? You're play time's over, boy!"

Alex just blinked. "You're an amateur, aren't you?"

"What?" The guy snarled, seriously offended.

"You're safety's off," Alex gestured toward the gun.

The guy's eyes grew wide. "_What?_" He looked down at his gun.

Alex buried his knee in the man's stomach. The gun clattered to the ground. "Just kidding," he sing-songed, and proceeded to knock the terrorist out.

The rest of zip ties were used up tying the terrorist's wrists together. His ankles were left unbound. It didn't matter, anyway, since he wouldn't be able to get out of the locked janitor's closet.

_Now I just need to tie up that other guy. _Alex went back into the lavatory. The terrorist was nowhere to be found.

_Huh?! _He spun around, searching the entire place. _Empty! _He removed the gun from his shoulders, flicked the safety, and held it ready as he kicked open every stall door. They were all empty. _What's going on? He should've been out of it for at least an hour! _

Alex spun around, his heart suddenly pounding. It felt like he was being watched. But there was nothing. He hurried to the gymnasium door, and hesitated.

_Just do it. You're holding the gun, remember? _Alex gripped the handle and pulled it open. At the same time, he brought the weapon up, holding his finger poised above the trigger. Again, nobody was there. And from the gymnasium, there was not a sound, save for the muffled sob of some terrified kid.

Alex stood in the doorway, completely uncertain. The partial wall stood before him; he was far back enough that he couldn't see over it. _Something's not right._

"Hey, kid." The terrorist leader's voice called out. "Why don't you come out, now? Your little game is over now."

_I knew it. They've found me out. _Alex didn't move. _What should I do?_

"If you don't come out, _kid,_" the voice snarled suddenly, sending shivers crawling down his neck, "I'll just have to shoot all of your friends here, one at a time. Would you like that?"

Alex silently swore. This wasn't good at all. Looks like he didn't have a choice in the matter. Still gripping his gun, and silently stepped out of the doorway, and along the partial wall. He came to its end, hesitated, then walked around the corner, right into plain view.

True to his word, the terrorist leader was holding a gun, and pointing it at a group of teary-eyed girls. The leader's right hand man stood faithfully at his boss's right hand side. And the missing, unconscious terrorist that Alex had beat up was sprawled on a chair, looking more dead than alive.

"Ah, there you are," the leader smiled as soon as he saw Alex. "Why don't you set that thing down – it's too big a toy for such a little boy."

Alex didn't move. The leader suddenly pulled the trigger, sending a bullet flying out into the group of girls. There were screams, as one girl suddenly grabbed her leg, shrieking, as blood suddenly started seeping all over the place. Alex stared, eyes wide.

"Like I said, little boys shouldn't be playing with weapons. They're too dangerous." The leader's smile was sick. Alex grated his teeth, and slowly set the gun down on the floor. Meanwhile, his mind was on hyper drive.

_Two of them, not so far away. The third's a possible threat, but he's somewhat incapacitated. What should I do? What _can _I do?!_

Alex straightened slowly, the gun at his feet.

"Good boy. Now kick it away."

He did, sending it several feet in front of him. "You're not getting away with this," he said quietly. "My friend's already taken down the rest of your men. And he'll stop you."

The leader terrorist handed his weapon to his right-hand man. "Oh? And who is this friend of yours?"

Alex glanced over the whole gymnasium furtively, noticing that Wolf was still flat on his back. _Great. I'm not going to get much help from him. _"He. . .used to be in the SAS."

"Really," the leader didn't seem to buy it. But there was a thoughtful expression on his face. Alex could guess what he was thinking: _This kid is such a fibber. There's no way that there's an ex-SAS guy around. But then, how did all of my men get taken out?_

"So, what's your point? Why a-are you doing this?" Alex asked, making his voice tremble. He shifted a step closer as he spoke, making it seem like an unconscious act. _Come on, I'm just a kid. I'm no threat to you guys. . . _

The leader snorted. "Cut the act, kid. I won't fall for it. You were carrying a gun, for crying out loud. And you somehow evaded my men, while your hero-wannabe friend took them out!" He stepped forward, moving closer to Alex, an ugly snarl twisting his features. "Now tell me, who were you running around with out there? _Tell me_ who took out my men!"

Alex leaned back slightly, showing an expression of fear. He reached both hands behind his back as he took a step backwards. "Ah. . .uh.. . ." he stammered, clearly terrified of the enraged terrorist who had taken another few steps closer.

_That's close enough. Do it _now! Alex drew the knife from the back of his pants, and threw it with all of his strength. It skimmed past the leader's cheek, seared through the air, and buried itself in the right-hand man's shoulder. The gun fell to the ground, and the man staggered backwards.

Alex launched forward, taking advantage of the moment. He slammed into the leader, knocking him off the feet. He punched him in the face, once, twice, before the leader managed to throw him off. Alex was up again, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the right-hand man grasping the gun he'd dropped.

_Oh, no! _Alex looked around frantically. He saw the leader coming at him, saw his own gun within inches of his hands. He reached out, grabbed it -

"Stop, or I'll kill her!"

Alex froze, turned to see the injured right-hand man holding his gun to the forehead of a girl. Alex recognized her – she was in his class.

"Why, you - " The leader was reaching out for him, ready to tear him apart.

Alex threw himself forward, out of reach of the leader. He somersaulted, came up, and saw that the right-hand man's finger was curling around the trigger. _No! _Alex brought his own gun up without even thinking, and squeezed off a single round.

The gunshot shattered the air. The right-hand man jerked, a spot of red blossoming above his left eye. Alex watched in a stunned silence as the man slowly folded to the ground. More than one person screamed.

Alex's instincts suddenly cried out in warning. He turned, and the leader suddenly was there, swiping at him with a wicked knife. Alex threw himself away, dropping the gun in the whole process. He rolled away. The leader came at him, snarling in rage.

"You bloody, rotten kid! You _killed _him!"

Alex tried to get to his feet, but the leader wouldn't let up. He kept stabbing the knife down, again and again. Alex kicked out, catching the man on the chest, pushing him away. The teenager leaped to his feet just as the leader came flying at him, the knife darting through the air.

"I'll _kill _you! I'll _kill _you!!" The man was unstoppable, flying into a fit of insane rage. The knife caught the light, and flashed, briefly blinding Alex. He stepped back, one arm covering his face. The blade slashed at his chest, tearing through cloth and cutting into his skin.

Alex yelped, and leaped away. The leader followed, his dark eyes mad. Alex ducked under a swipe of the knife, and drove the side of his hand into the man's arm. The knife was dropped. The leader wasn't fazed by the loss of his weapon. He merely swung a bony fist at Alex, connecting with his jaw, sending the boy flying onto the floor.

Momentarily dazed, Alex groaned, and shook his head. _Come on, get with it. . . _The stars cleared from his vision, and he was greeted with a giant foot swinging towards his head. "Gegh!" He jerked his upper body up into a sitting position; the leader's kick went wide.

Alex planted his hands down, and swung his leg around in a low, powerful kick. He connected with the back of the leader's legs, and the leader was knocked right off his feet. Alex immediately pounced, landing on top of the madman.

The leader reached up, grabbed Alex's shirt in an attempt to yank him off. But since the boy's shirt had been nearly cut off, he only succeeded in ripping Alex's shirt off. The material came off in the leader's hand, briefly blocking Alex from his vision.

It was enough. Alex drove the side of his hand into the leader's neck with as much force as he could muster. Something inside the man's neck gave way, and the leader went deathly still. The fight was over.

Alex sagged, still sitting on the man's stomach. He could feel the warm blood trickle down his chest. The wound stung. But he was still alive. And so were all of the students.

He got to his feet, and stepped away from the leader, the last remaining shreds of his shirt falling away. His old bullet scar throbbed painfully. Then he noticed the entire school body staring at him in a stunned silence.

He blinked.

"Um. . .does somebody want to call the police?"


	23. Twenty Two: End

TWENTY – TWO

* * *

"Um. . .does somebody want to call the police?"

There was a long, awkward silence before anybody seemed to respond. Then Mr. Bray got to his feet, and clapped his hands twice to get everybody's attention. But not before he cast an uneasy glance in Alex's direction.

"All right, everyone! Um. . .due to the. . .situation we're in, I'm going to have to ask everyone to stay where they are until the police arrive. Mrs. Bedfordshire -" he looked at the secretary, but she already had her BlackBerry out.

"All rready done," she said, her voice shaky. "The police are on their way. So is the ambulance."

Alex heaved a sigh of relief. This was good – it looked like the adults were taking over the situation. The school nurse was also on the move, applying basic first aid to the injured girl. Now he just had to get out of here, before everybody started questioning him. A lot of them were all ready eying him, and whispering behind their hands. Probably wondering what kind of school kid would go around shooting the bad guys.

Then Jasmine jumped up, and ran over to him. "Ian!" she exclaimed, the volume of her voice drawing the attention of everybody in the gym. "Are you all right? You're bleeding!"

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

She looked him over, her eyes falling to his chest, which still slowly oozed blood. For a moment, she stared at the puckered, pink/white bullet scar that hovered mere centimeters above his heart. Then she tore her eyes away, redirecting her gaze to the floor.

"I thought they'd kill you," she said softly.

"Well, they certainly tried," he responded, making his tone light. Making it seem like he totally calm and relaxed with the whole situation, while in truth, his hands were trembling. His blood was still racing as both fear and shock beat at his system.

_I killed them. Right in front of all these people. What are they going to think? I'm probably some kind of monster to them. . ._

"You were awesome," Jasmine suddenly declared, meeting his gaze firmly. "You saved the whole school!" A strange glint appeared in her gaze. "I really believe it now, that you're a _real _spy. No normal person could've done what you did."

Alex cast a furtive glance at all of his classmates. They were breathing in every word, varying degrees of awe and fear on each of their faces. In all truth, however, Alex couldn't bring himself to care all that much about them knowing he was a spy, or even a secret agent for MI6.

The entire school just saw him take out some terrorists. So what? To them, he was Ian Daniels, a strange transfer student, who was now going to disappear very soon. After a while, they'd forget about him, and the whole thing would become nothing more than a story shared amongst other students. There really was nothing to fear.

That was when one boy slowly got to his feet, standing alone amongst all the other students. It was Tom. He merely looked at Alex, really _looked. _He took in Alex's features: the weary brown eyes, the black hair, and the visible, faint scars that littered Alex's torso. Especially the little bullet scar which was visible even to those at the back of the room. Tom carefully recalled everything that had happened in the day – his conversation with 'Ian' earlier in the day, the call to the gymnasium, how 'Ian' had slipped away from the group, and then showed up to take out the terrorists.

And Tom knew. He realized that he'd knew all along, but had been afraid to admit it. Maybe it was because he wasn't quite _sure, _because this person who came back in Alex's place was somehow _different. _Changed into something a bit darker, something more frightening. But Tom knew.

"Alex," he finally spoke quietly. Despite all the whisperings of the students, his voice carried across the gym with strange, total clarity.

Alex froze as soon as he heard his name, and slowly turned. His gaze met with Tom's. To both of them, everything else faded away: every last student seemed to disappear, and only the two of them seemed to inhabit the entire space.

Tom waited a long moment, then asked the question he'd been wanting to ask for a long time. "Why?"

Alex breathed out a tired sigh, and a small, sad smile settled onto his face. "I killed someone, Tom. An innocent person who didn't deserve to die – I shot her right between the eyes."

The blood seemed to left the other boy's face as his eyes widened. "You. . .killed someone?"

"Yes. I was fed lies, and was led to believe that she was my enemy. But that doesn't make a difference. I still made the decision to kill her." Alex felt incredibly calm. He shrugged. "And it all began from there."

Tom swallowed, and whispered, "What do you mean?"

Alex hesitated. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

". . .yeah. I'm sure."

The teenage spy looked at his friend, and wondered what Tom would do after he knew the truth. _Will he view me as some kind of monster? Will he hate me? _Even so, he knew that if anybody deserved to know, it was Tom. "I ended up joining Scorpia, a terrorist organization. They trained me as an assassin, and sent me out to kill an innocent man. I killed him. Right in front of his only son's eyes." Alex could see Tom's horror, yet he plunged on.

"I was so lost, trapped in a terrible darkness that I was to scared to face. MI6 finally caught me, and told me the truth behind Scorpia's lies. I realized that the people I've killed were completely innocent, and that what I've done was nothing more than murder. I wasn't able to face myself. So I became Ian Daniels. The new identity was supposed to protect me from Scorpia, but really, I was just hiding from myself."

Alex fell silent, not knowing what else to say, and waited for his friend's reaction. He expected fear, anger, even revulsion. He'd even understood if Tom wanted to get away from him – after all, who would want to be friends with a murderer?

But Tom only looked sorrowful. He touched his own chest, the same spot where Alex was scarred. "You were shot. . ."

Alex blinked in surprise. "Yeah. . .that was how I died and became Ian. It was at one of the American President's speeches."

Tom stared, his gaze still sad. Then he began to walk forward, closing the distance between the two of them. Alex remained still, uncertain of what Tom's intentions were. Tom came within a few feet away, and still didn't stop. He reached Alex, and threw his arms around him without any hesitation.

Alex lost all sense of thought, totally shocked. He merely stood as still as a statute while Tom hugged him. _What. . .?_

"I'm sorry," Tom softly said. "It must have been hell. But I'm glad that you're back."

"T-Tom. . ."

Alex slowly lifted his own arms, and hesitantly returned the gesture. A slow smile made its way to his own face, and for a moment, he closed his eyes.

"Thanks, Tom. I'm. . . .I'm glad to be back, too."

"I'd hate to break into your little moment, Alex," a gruff voice suddenly said, "but I think you've forgotten about the audience."

Alex's eyes jerked open, and he pulled away from Tom. Wolf was standing beside them, one hand rubbing his bruised jaw. He was frowning, making him look somewhat intimidating, but Alex couldn't help but notice that the SAS soldier's eyes were twinkling with amusement. Wolf, noticing that he finally had Alex's attention, nodded off to the side.

That was when Alex remembered that he was in a gymnasium filled with the entire school. He also realized that they had just heard every single word he'd said. He swore under his breath. He was in big trouble now.

He stared at his classmates. They stared at him with wide eyes. He looked over at the school staff. They bore varying expressions of complete shock and disbelief. Alex sighed. Ah, what did it matter? Now that they knew the truth, there wasn't much he could do about it. Now it was up to MI6 to keep it all under wraps.

"Alex?" Tom seemed slightly worried, and a bit guilty. It was because of him -

"Don't sweat it," Alex responded, suddenly feeling rather light-hearted. He looked out at the entire gymnasium.

"Look, I'll admit it," he said loudly. "I am Alex Rider, and I'm a spy for MI6. Now that you all know that, I suggest you keep it quiet." He smiled. "If you don't, then I'll have to hunt you down, and . . . ." he purposefully let his sentence trail off on an ominous note.

There were a few gasps, and more than a few glances at the dead terrorists. Every single person in the gymnasium mentally vowed to immediately forget the entire incident.

The gymnasium's main doors banged open then, and the police poured in, followed by paramedics bearing a stretcher.

Wolf dropped a hand onto Alex's shoulder. "Shall we go, Cub?"

"Yeah." Alex looked at Tom. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Tom grinned, and lifted a hand in response.

Alex headed towards the lavatory doors, intending to slip out of all the commotion. Wolf went with him, and both of them managed to make it the school's front doors without being bothered by any of the police.

A sleek black car from MI6 waited for them outside. Alex paused just outside of the school doors. Wolf, too, stopped, and watched him, seeming to read his thoughts.

"What are you going to do now, kid?"

Alex looked up, squinting against the bright light of the sun. He peered at the sky, which was nearly cloudless. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes. It was really bright, and he could feel the gentle warmth of the sun. He dropped his hand, and looked towards the black car.

"Well, I'm a spy, aren't I?"

Wolf didn't say anything.

Alex thought of his father, who had worked undercover in Scorpia. He tried to imagine what that might have been like, working amongst evil people in order to bring them down. He smiled. "I've decided."

"What have you decided?" Wolf inquired, becoming curious as to what was going through this enigma of a teenager. The SAS soldier could remember the first time he'd met the kid, back in boot camp. Back then, he had thought the whole thing was a joke. K-Unit, a group of four trained professionals, work with a mere school boy? The whole thing was ridiculous.

Yet, Alex had been the one to kick him out of the airplane when he'd been frozen by fear. It was at that moment when Wolf had been forced to change his thinking. Alex wasn't just a mere school boy. He was much more than that, forced to face one terrifying nightmare after another, and yet coming through every time, a little bit stronger than before. Wolf looked at the young man beside him, and couldn't help but feel respect for the teen.

Alex Rider began to walk towards the car that was waiting for him.

"I've decided. . . .I'm going to go after Scorpia."

* * *

_FIN

* * *

_

_**Thank-you to all those who read, reviewed, or favorited this story. Without your support, I would've never gotten this far. :)**_

_**I'll be taking a break from writing any fanfiction until I finish up a couple of stories on the other site. In the meantime, feel free to pm me with any ideas or suggestions. Adieu for now!!  
**_


End file.
